


A Final Roadtrip

by Gangsties, russiasanlovesyou



Series: The Miss Adventures of Chris and Hazel [1]
Category: Far Cry 5, Far Cry: New Dawn
Genre: ...Whoops, Also the rook is literally my deputy and i love him, Basically OC centric, Deputy Rook is an absolute bastard, Everyone lives, F/F, Hazel and Chris love each other but "they won't hesitate bitch.", Jacob and John are hella brotherly, Joey Hudson has a crush on one gal and her name is Mary May, M/M, Multi, Staci doesn't know how to act, Talk everyday, except burke, kind of a fix-it fic, you can fight me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2019-11-18 08:29:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18117089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gangsties/pseuds/Gangsties, https://archiveofourown.org/users/russiasanlovesyou/pseuds/russiasanlovesyou
Summary: When a family reunion leaves two cousins lonely and upset, they decide to hit the road and make their own adventures... that might also include stealing their uncle's favorite car, and booking it a state over...Guess they also didn't plan on running into, and being captured, by a crazy, religious, cult. Now Chris and Hazel have to find a way not to piss off the two "Heralds" they are stuck with. But what happens when some sort of feelings develop? Who can be sure, but they should probably find out before the supposed end of the world.





	1. Should I Stay or Should I Go?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [russiasanlovesyou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/russiasanlovesyou/gifts).



                                                            Hazel

 

It wasn’t that Hazel didn’t want to be here… Here as in his "Great Grandma Andy’s" (not technically his great grandma but she treated him like any of her grandkids.) house that was approximately 54 miles away from any other home, in the middle of Dickinson, North Dakota, where his family decided to join in on the “Annual Big Family Get Together/Camping Trip!!!” And while he had sternly told them no, followed by the thickest of lies spilling through his teeth about fire season, and the need to stay in his tower, his mom made sure he was packing up and heading in for this week long hell fest. "Theodore Hazel Avila! I will not have my only child being distant with his family!"

He rolled his eyes. It was more that he just felt like he didn’t… belong here. No matter how nice he played, or how soft he made his voice sound, everyone outcasted him… again.

 

If he had been younger, still scared to go against the normalcy that his family had set in place for him, he might have been disheartened by the lack of conversations that he was being involved in or the amount of times anyone acted like he wasn’t there. But he was older. Old enough to realize that not all of them cared about him, but some of them still found space for him, the new him, in their conversations and in their memories…

 

Still, three and a half hours of reminiscing with his cousins and their parents and kids about times he had pleaded God to help him forget, hadn't been awful. Yet here they were, being dredged up with smiles and laughs. So now he found himself outside, sipping the last of a beer that had been passed his way as soon as Great Grandma Andy had started the party. The sun was just beginning to set, the colors in the sky shifting slowly. Man, it had to be heavenly to live out in this sort of area, without having the worry of watching day and night for the possibility of fire danger. It was clear why Grandma Andy and Grandma Shirley had decided to live the rest of their lives out here - the only thing he couldn’t understand was why they let Grandma Shirley’s youngest son, Uncle Joey, lives with them as well.

 

He wasn’t a bad guy, per se, but he wasn’t that great either. After wife number 4 left him, yeah… 4 woman stayed with him, he decided he was gonna live his lifelong dream of being a mechanic. Not a bad dream, most of the guys in the family were good with cars; the only problem was… he wasn’t. The one good car he had, a beautiful cherry red 1964 Pontiac GTO, that his dad had built, that he took the utmost care of, was maintained by Uncle Joey’s older brother Tommy. And behind closed doors, while Uncle Joey was off showing college girls in the town his older car, (and probably other things,) the family chided him for being the biggest mooch.

 

The last drink of his beer was warm, his skin covered in a thin layer of sweat - he had hoped with the lowering of the sun, the temperature was sure to follow suit. Nope, it was still hot. He sighed, tossing the can into the open bed of his dad’s truck, swiping his sweaty palms onto the sweat pants he wore. When he looked back up, the red of his uncle’s car caught his eye. It had just been washed, the shimmer of the red paint, glistening brightly, like it had diamonds affixed straight into the paint.

 

“We could totally take it.” Hazel startled, grabbing the front of his shirt, the muscle in his chest beating erratically underneath his fingers.. He turned to see Chris, eyes wide as if he hadn’t realized he had startled him, a sly smirk that said that was his intention, and two iced beers in his hands.

 

“Fucker.” Hazel snatched the beer held out to him, snapping off the cap and taking a sip. Bitter. Chris settled on the bumper of the truck, downing half his beer and waving off the wide eyed stare Hazel sent him. Chris was in the exact same boat as Hazel, ignored and exhausted of being here. Although his cousin had a different reason for it. Being one of the only people in the family, aside from Great Grandpa Myron, to have joined the Army at a young age, didn’t exactly leave a good impression with the family. Especially when he decided to leave early for personal reason.

 

Hazel hadn’t even heard about it; not until Chris had gotten back and found himself broken in more places than one. Hazel could still hear the call playing over his voicemail back in the tower - after 5 and a half years of trying to ignore his family, hearing that the youngest kid in his line-up of grandkids was in the hospital because of a suicide attempt, made him forget all past indiscretions to make it back home. From then on out, they had talked as much as they could; Chris being in a rehabilitation center for Vets, and Hazel still working up in the towers.

 

Now they were together, and after almost eight years of not seeing each other face to face, or in a dire situation, it felt nice. When they had seen each other earlier that day, Chris arriving first with his family, Hazel had all but launched out of his dad’s moving car to hug the life out of Chris.

 

He took another sip, shifting his weight around to balance out the sleepiness of his muscles. Chris was watching him, steady gray eyes, and that knowing soft smile always on his lips. He was such a good kid, one that didn’t deserve the hand he was dealt…

 

“Are we still on for plan; Ditch the Family and go find us some Gold,” Chris set down his beer to cup his hands around his mouth, voice turning into a whisper, “AKA, to find us some Good old fashioned dicking?” They both laughed, Hazel slapping at Chris’ arms, the younger man waggling his brows.

 

“Hell yes, the plan is still on.” Their “plan” was, as Chris had eloquently named it, about ditching their family to go road tripping instead. It had all started when Chris’ sister, Mykie, started a group chat with the 3rd generation of kids in the family, (All the cousins and all their friends, basically) and stated they were going to rent their own campsite to get away from the parents and, “party all night long.” Almost everyone had agreed, adding their own limitations to the idea, but Hazel and Chris, both old men at heart, decided spending the week with people their own age sounded like hell on earth, part 2. So they declined and started talking about renting a different site, further from the others, where they could spend time with just each other. Then the idea shifted to just staying at Great Grandma Andy’s, avoiding the camping trip all together, but that wouldn’t be much fun. So their final plan, after almost a month of planning, was chiseled into going on a road trip up into South Dakota, through Montana, and Idaho, into Washington where they would stay for a while.

 

Hazel had promised hiking and fishing, two things Chris had always wanted to do, but never had the chance to do. Living in the city was rough, and Hazel was sort of glad he got out while he could - listening to retellings of traffic tales and crime rates spoiled his want to go visit. So it was finalized, but they had to wait until the rest of the family was gone to execute their own plans, at the mild request of Grandma Shirley.

 

“Just have to wait.”

Chris grunted as he jumped away from the truck, “Man, why’d we agree to that, anyways?” He hobbled forward, mimicking using a cane, and pressed a hand to his hip as he walked. He walked towards Uncle Joey’s car, turning back to Hazel, and hobbling back, making small, pitched noises to mimic Grandma Shirley.

“You young whippersnappers. With your good hips - if you’re gonna leave, just wait till everyone else does, so Gram Andy doesn’t find it none too suspicious!” He wobbled back to the car, placing a hand on Hazel’s cheek, pinching it lightly, Hazel laughing through tears, trying to swat his hand away.

 

“Look at you two all grown up! So surprising you still think like,” he hummed, stroking his chin thoughtfully, “idiots. Just like your father's.” Chris snapped up, leaning back against the truck, smoothing back his hair, “Aww, G-Ma, we ain’t like… too stupid. We just don’t wanna, like, bother no one.” He made a puckered face, like he was questioning what he was saying, failing to hide the corners of lips curling up. Hazel laughed harder, smacking his stomach;

 

“Is… is that supposed to be me?!” He gasped on air. Chris fell out of character, ruffling his hair and smiling widely, letting out soft chuckles, “Uh, yeah. Spot on, right?”

 

“Abso-fucking-lutely not!” They laughed, like nothing was wrong, laughed until they were both bent over crying, Chris even threatening to throw up. Damn, Hazel missed this, and the way Chris kept making those weird puckered faces at him, made him feel whole again. It filled an emptiness he hadn’t realized had grown since he was 16. Maybe their family didn’t want them as much anymore, but they were still good, still happy just as they were.

 

The sun had gone down for good when the family started making their decision. Some were walking in and out of the house with bags and blankets, others (mainly Chris’ mom,) were following behind to continue conversations. They watched from the safety of Hazel’s dads truck (his dad was riding with Chris' dad) as they brought the party outside. Conversations were loud, Grandma Shirley trying her hardest to keep them down as young children scrambled around her feet.

 

“I wasn’t kidding.” Chris whispered, voice a lot closer than Hazel had expected.

“What?”

 

“About taking it,” a vague gesture towards Uncle Joey’s car, “They won’t know.” Hazel turned to Chris, his eyes stuck to the cold metal of the GTO. Their Uncle’s favorite car, the one he had almost killed a man for, the one he had divorced all four of his wives for. Hazel contemplated it - he had thought about it earlier; not taking the car, but seeing if he could drive it around the block, or up and down the street. Fulfill that childhood urge of driving your dream car, that always sat at the back of his thoughts since the day he had earned his license. But there was no way in hell Uncle Joey would let him drive it, let alone sit in it.

 

“Mmm, I don’t know, dude. I think he would kill us.” Chris laughed around the mouth of his beer, swallowing quickly and waving his hand in front of his face. He went on to make up some other crazy bullshit, plans of sneaking into Uncle Joey’s trailer, and “yoinking” the keys. Hazel blinked steadily at him, throwing back the last of his beer. It was lukewarm, nasty… Chris bat his eyelashes, smiled with his whole face, the way he did when they were kids and he wanted Hazel to get in trouble for him, and back then, of course he did whatever the other had asked. Back when he was knee high and the consequences weren’t too terrible, but now was a little different. After another firm no, was shot at Chris, stopping him mid-story about their “new plan,” Hazel maneuvered his way inside the house to grab a couple more drinks. Chris had offered, but Hazel needed a second in the air conditioning.

 

The dining room was completely empty, bare of all the bags that had been there prior, people talked loudly from the living room, making drunken plans; Hazel wasn’t sure how they made anything with the music blaring so loud.

 

As he walked around the table, something caught his eye. A pair of keys, with an old, fading American Flag that probably had some stupid quote on it, and a weird sunburst cross. It was an odd adornment to Uncle Joey’s things. The man have never been religious before, and Hazel was almost certain someone would have brought up the fact that crazy, Uncle Joe was Catholic to rile up the family even more.

He paused, fingers dancing on the chair he stood behind, smiling at cousins and family that passed by without glancing up from conversations.

 

‘We could take it.’ Chris had sounded so confident, ready for anything that would be coming their way if they happened to get caught. He shook his head, walking into the kitchen and grabbed the case of beer he had been putting a dent in. Grandma Shirley and a couple of his aunts found him in the kitchen counting beers, giving warm hellos and forcing big kisses to his cheeks. He smiled awkwardly, looking desperately for a way to escape. Booking it back to the backdoor was his best option, wanting to avoid a conversation with Grandma Shirley and Auntie Jess, that was practically set up for him.  

 

He gave his quick goodbye, and ran, dodging smaller children playing around and under the dining table, pausing at the edge of the table, eyes on those damn keys. He groaned quietly…

 

***

 

It was funny - watching the family argue on how to fill the trailer with their own stuff. At first it had been the woman, easily packaging everything, organized and all but labeled, into Uncle Dennis’ trailer, until the men caught wind and had to go out and re-organize everything. Now it seemed that nobody could have their belongings at the very back and only Grandma Shirley and Great Grandma Andy could have their stuff in the middle (the safest place). Then came the arguments about favorites, who was most important after the elders? Hazel watched his mother try and fail to calm his dad down, him and Terry, (a man Hazel was sure he had met once) talk loudly at one another. Not yelling, they weren’t yelling… they don’t yell in this family.

 

Chris had popped the tailgate down, finally, and laid a blanket over top it, giving them a nice spot to recline and drink. And oh did they drink. The whole hour that their family found themselves at a crossroad, they drank all but one of the beers. Their, well more like Chris’, stories turned into jokes that neither were sure made sense, but sounded funny in the moment. One joke in particular gave Hazel good insight into how much Chris disliked his older sister's husband.

 

It reminded him of how alike they were in their ideas, in their humor, and clearly in their passive aggressive tendencies.

 

“He’s a dick. Fucking treating me like I’m a monster when he thinks it’s ok to hit my Niece. Piece of shit.” Chris drank, chugged, half the beer in one go, slamming the empty bottle onto the tailgate. Hazel nodded, having lost control of his head at one point - it lolled forward, and in his drunken state, it was difficult to pick it back up.

 

“Yeah, fuck him. Fuck all of them.” He sat back, blinking owlishly until the world stopped spinning on its own. “Fuck this family.” He slurred out past a hiccup. Chris snorted, raising the last beer in agreeance as he cracked it open.

 

They settled back into their own quiet, listening to the conversations around the trailer, the final arguments as everything seemed to be packed up. Grandma Shirley waved at them, both boys waving back, and then the sound of cars starting filled the air… It took about 30 seconds, the gravel road kicking up dust, and when it settled the family was gone. Chris and Hazel the only two left at Great Grandma Andy’s. Hazel took the quiet in stride, humming a song he hadn’t heard in a long time. The tune was jaunty, and the lyrics came easy.

 

“Only you~.” He sang out of tune, laughing mid-note, jumping off the bed of the truck, hand held out to Chris. The younger man took it, mocking a blush as Hazel pulled him into a dance, still out of key singing the song.

 

“Can make the darkness bright!” Chris joined in, singing just as out of key, with just as big of a smile. They danced around, spinning each other and laughing the whole time. Only when Hazel felt like barfing did they stop, leaning on the truck to steady their heads. With a smile that Hazel was sure looked mischievous, he dangled keys in front of Chris’ face. A pair with a faded flag and shitty cross. Chris stared at him, flabbergasted, eyebrows practically in his hairline.

 

“No fucking way.”

“Uh, yes fucking way!” The younger man grabbed them, shaking them wildly in Hazel’s face.

 

“What a fucking icon, boss!” They high fived, almost missing because Hazel wasn’t really steady, before sprinting into the house and up the stairs. Chris did this with practiced ease, Hazel on the other hand was too drunk and at one point ended up face down on the carpet of the hallway.

 

They went into their respective rooms and gathered all of their supplies, a shout or two going back and forth as Chris kept wondering what he would and wouldn’t need for a small hike. Hazel reassured him, telling him the tower in Cle Elum had all the supplies they would need for a couple nights out there. Chris conceded and packed the necessities.

 

“Is a gun a necessity?” Hazel was already done, packed light like he always did, and was sitting on Chris’ bed, watching the other shuffle through three suitcases worth of stuff, plucking out small items every now and then. The joke fell flat, Chris even grimacing from his bent over position.

 

“No...not really, Crystal.” Hazel smiled at the glare thrown at him. After about 15 minutes of searching, Chris finally had a proper bag filled, using his old military grade one because it was “large and in charge,” and they were heading out.

 

“Ready?” Hazel asked, locking the front door of the house, but not closing it. If Chris backed out, so would he.  The younger man seemed to be thinking the same thing, eyes searching for something in Hazel’s face, smiling when he didn’t find it.

“Ready, Boss.” The door clicked shut.

“Then let’s go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well ok, for anyone who reads this aside from my lovable Wook, this is kind of just me writing for the hell of it. It goes a little fast and one point and I have no clue when I will update. If you read it, thanks. Find any mistakes, let me know.


	2. Little Red Wagon

** Hazel**

 

Hazel wasn’t someone who usually had dreams, just rather someone who fell asleep and then woke up. No nightmares, no adventures in his mind, just sleep. Yet when he woke up, there was some sort of residual memory of something he didn’t understand, sitting at the back of his mind. If he thought on it too hard, it would disappear, like fog. It also didn’t help that he woke with a pounding headache, consciousness coming to him with a dull ache. The only things he could do was groan and swat at the sunlight blinding him. There was a low hum, trying, and winning, to lull him back into sleep. But what was it? He hated having a fan on him, and it was hot, muggy, like he fell asleep outside again.

 

He groaned, trying to roll onto his stomach, relieve some of the pain in his neck, but he was stopped by someone holding him, arm strapped around his chest and stomach. Again, he groaned, shoving at nothing, shouldering into something firm. It wasn’t until he woke up a little more, sleep leaving him enough that he could hear the things around him, that he began to recognize the noise.

 

If he hadn’t grown up with it, hadn’t had his parents and aunts and uncles shoving him into the backseat of a car and driving through deserted hills until he, and many of his other cousins, had officially passed out, he never would have guessed it.

 

Suddenly he was almost certain he was going to be sick -  he sat up quickly, not caring about the stiffness in his neck and back, and looked around the car. Chris stared back at him, eyes slowly returning to the road when Hazel seemed to calm down.

“What the-.”

 

“Good morning, Star shine. The Earth says hello.” He glared at Chris, the headache, and slight nausea making him grumpier than usual. When had they left? How far out were they? Was there a rest stop nearby? Because now Hazel was almost 68% sure he was going to vomit. He wanted to ask, address his distress, but his throat was too dry, stuck together. It was hard to swallow - all that came out was a sigh.

 

“Hungover?” It wasn’t really a question, but there was a different, hidden question hidden beneath it. It could also have been more of a laughable deduction that Chris had made whilst he handed over a small flask. Hazel looked at it, didn’t touch it, eyes flicking between metal and Chris’ face.

 

“It’s water, asshole.” At the word water, Hazel was snatching it away, gulping down every last drop and sucking on the opening when there was none left. A tired gasp left him when he pulled the flask away, the chilled metal feeling nice against his hot skin.

 

“Who the hell puts water in a flask?” He asked between gasps. Chris side-eyed him, taking the empty container and chucking it in the backseat.

 

“Me.” Hazel rolled his eyes, ignoring the way the world tilted afterwards. The nausea was fading slowly, and when he looked out the window, watched the trees and fields as they passed, it subsided even more. Wherever they were seemed desolate, the only buildings they seemed to encounter were empty farm houses, and old barns that had collapsed or were at the brink.

 

Chris had the radio on, soft tunes playing through the speakers. It was nice- almost like a picture perfect moment. Hazel smiled, pulling out his cellphone, checking the time (it was only 8 in the morning!) and swiping open his camera. He angled himself towards Chris and smiled widely, snapping a picture just as Chris popped into frame with a doofy face. Hazel laughed, threatening to make it his background, as Chris told him to delete it.

 

They returned to the quiet from before, making plans to stop in at the first restaurant they found to get something to eat and have a moment's rest. He really wished he had stayed awake during their time driving out. It would have made it a whole lot easier to remember the plan they had made - if they had made a plan. All that came to him were bits and pieces, and most were so garbled by booze that he wasn’t sure what was real and what was stuff he had made up. He couldn’t seem to remember why they had left so late, why they hadn’t dipped out as soon as they both got there. Why were they going this way to Cle Elum? This particular route was the longest they could take… They had just wanted time away from the family, space, but they needed to be back before them… but why?

 

The keys in the ignition caught his attention, all but making every bone in his body ache with how stupid they were. A faded flag and a sunburst cross.

 

“Fuck.” He mumbled, Chris humming in confusion. Hazel could feel his cousin’s eyes on him, the worry they held when he didn’t respond immediately. They were gonna die, there was no ifs, ands, or buts - as soon as they got back to Great Grandma’s, Joey would strangle both of them with his belt and then burn them alive. It was the least he could do after his attempt to do it to another man had been foiled, he now had two willing (or sacrificed) victims to try it on.     

 

“Holy shit.” Chris stared at him, waiting before giving out an impatient, “what?”

“Holy shit, holy fucking shit!” He pressed his hands into the dashboard, before pulling at the seatbelt so he could angle himself towards Chris. The latter was watching the road, slowing down to pull over, clearly worried.

 

“We took Uncle Joey’s car.”

 

“Jesus Christ, Hazel! Gave me a fucking heart attack!” He shifted the car back into gear, speeding up with a roll of his eyes. The noises that left Hazel were a mix between unintelligible and dramatic. Chris only huffed out a laugh when Hazel covered his face. This really wasn’t good.

 

“Yeah. We took Uncle Joey’s car. Yeah, we’ll probably die. But I’m only gonna die after I have a good time, God dammit!” Chris huffed, gripping the steering wheel tighter, “Plus I’ve already had my mental crisis.” He didn’t continue and Hazel looked at him expectantly. Chris shrugged, shoulders at his ears.

 

“Spent all night thinking about how fucking awful we are for doing it.” Chris glanced at him, before gluing his eyes to the road, a small, almost forced smile on his lips.

 

“But,” Chris held up his hand, interrupting Hazel’s incoming monologue, specifically one finger that he pressed into Hazel’s cheek - the latter leaning away from it, “He kind of deserves it. So I don’t feel as bad.” His hand returned to the steering wheel, and all Hazel could do was stare open mouthed.  

 

Whether or not Hazel felt bad anymore would be up for debate, but he still needed to play the adult in this situation. “Even if he deserves it, we can still get in trouble for this sort of thing. Hell, we already are in trouble! If we get caught in Redmond, I’m fucked!”

 

“Woah, wait. Why?” Chris looked excited for the story, and Hazel was surprised his mom hadn’t already spilt the beans to everyone about it. Not that it was that great of a story, but he sighed, only wanting to relent small details to avoid his crippling anxiety that came with it. To busy his hands, he picked up the small MP3 player Chris had connected to the stereo.

 

“I, uh, pretended to be a police officer and it spiraled greatly out of control…”

Chris sputtered out some sounds, “You what!?” The questions he asked all melded together, his eyes darting between the road and Hazel. Hazel, in turn, waited for silence, trying to grasp at a couple of the questions he was very willing to answer, such as, how, and what had happened afterwards.

 

He really didn't want to look at Chris. With new found guilt, he decided he would make the rest of the playlist Chris had started.

 

“Well, you see, I walked in, told them I was the new deputy that transferred from California and made up some bullshit about how my file might have been lost cause of a storm hitting where I lived, and they believed me. It took them two weeks to figure out I wasn’t legit... “

 

“I told the Chief of Police I wasn’t legit!” He exclaimed after Chris shot him a pointed stare. “He just thought I was joking. I even told em I was too anxious to just not come in when they scheduled me.”

 

“Holy shit, Hazel.” Hazel gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, already feeling the regrets from the past coming to burden him again. They sat there, the hum of a song Hazel didn’t know distracting, but not enough that he didn’t see Chris opening and closing his mouth, preparing another onslaught of questions. But none seemed to pass the initial stage of thought, Chris just nodding once and focused back on driving.

He wouldn’t mind answering them, at a different time, when the sun didn’t hurt his whole face, and it didn’t feel like a hammer was banging an offbeat rhythm into his skull. He still felt too nauseous to think, or move, or do anything really. The car ride was bumpy and all he really wanted to do was sleep again. From the calming sounds of the road, and the soft bass of the song, it didn’t take more than a few minutes of quiet for Hazel to start slipping off the edge.

 

Driving had to be hard on Chris, he wasn’t much of a driver - Hazel would have to swap out with him soon, maybe after they ate at the diner. Something made Hazel snap awake, pursing his lips as he thought.

 

“How long have you been driving?” Chris raised his eyebrows, then crunched them together.

 

“Mm… About three hours.” Hazel nodded. When he looked out the window, the fields of grass had blended into a forest, sparse and short, but bright green nevertheless. This was going to be fun, hiking and camping out without the pressures of work or their family. Hell, even if they did get caught with Uncle Joey’s car, they could say the drunk bastard let them take it. No one would know.

Still that feeling of an unanswered question, bothered him, like he was forgetting something genuinely important. Then it hit him.

 

“Chris?” He responded with a hum, “When did you get your license?”

“Oh!” He turned to smile at Hazel, all teeth, and a soft laugh, that same mischievous look in his eye, “never.”

 

***

 

“Montana - Big sky country. The treasure state,” Chris recited out, taking on the voice of a commercial actor. “Missoula…? Missoula has a lot of trails, a couple that look interesting, one that looks nice.” Hazel tried to respond around a mouthful of sandwich, deciding to hum when he couldn’t get words out.

 

Chris held the map up, pointing to somewhere in Montana, but Hazel couldn’t look for too long, keeping his eyes on the road. After their quick stop in the diner - a diner that felt like a horror movie restaurant, complete with uneasy stares, and an older woman that seemed to want nothing to do with them - they had swapped seats, trying to be as cop friendly as they could. And although Chris had urged Hazel to stay at the diner, he had decided they were going to order to go, and they could eat in the car. Bad enough that they were getting glares from just walking in, Hazel wasn’t sure what the people from Mama Stacy's Diner would do if they stayed.

 

So they left in the end, and Hazel had to carefully stuff his face while making sure to keep the car on his side of the road. There were a couple close calls, but Chris seemed to be to enraptured by the map (lucky bastard could read in the car,) to care about the honks of oncoming traffic. So far, there hadn’t been much trouble, car was running well, not too many laws to break out in the country, and not a single cop looked at them twice. Clearly the family hadn’t gone back to the house, or else those same cops would be on them instantly.

 

The short trees soon broke off as they got further away from North Dakota, turning into more plains, some filled with silos and barns. The true sign of crossing over the border between states was three miles into farmland, WELCOME TO MONTANA - Chris used Hazel’s phone to take a picture of it, then took a few more pictures of himself. Hazel glowered when he was unwillingly captured in one.

 

“So we’re stopping in Missoula?” Chris didn’t respond at first, scrolling through Hazel’s phone to pick another song. Once he had picked one, his attention landed on his cousin, a coy smile playing at the corner of his lips.

 

“Yup.”

 

Hazel waited for something else. Further explanation as to why Missoula was the first choice, maybe a story, a slight follow up, but Chris seemed more implored to stare down at his phone. He cleared his throat, shifted in his seat, contemplated driving the car off the edge of the cliff to see if that would catch his cousin’s attention. Decided against that because that was a little drastic… a little.

 

“Anything else… that we’re going there for?” Chris’ eyes darted around the car, thinking, he shook his head with a smile. Still not giving much away. With a hum, Hazel really tried to drop the conversation, willing his mind to think about anything else, but Chris was being weird. Well, weirder than usual. Maybe he was tired, or was truly just wanting to stop in Missoula. For God knows what reason. Hazel wasn’t well versed in city sizes outside of Portland, Oregon and Cle Elum, respectively, but Missoula seemed a little small and out of the way from the path they were taking.

 

“Someone you want to see?” Chris looked slowly at Hazel, as if he wasn’t expecting the other to stick so adamantly onto this conversation, “Or is there something there that you wanted to check out?”

 

“Why do you care so much?” Hazel whipped his head towards Chris, staring in partial confusion and partial annoyance. Why was he being so snippy with him? Chris was staring back evenly, face passive, emotionless. With a deep breath and a moment of composure, Hazel turned his head back towards the road, adjusting himself so that he was comfortable again.

 

“I’m just curious?”

 

“Fair enough.” Was that supposed to answer something? Hazel shook his head, making the best disgruntled face he could manage. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“That your answer was clear? That I understood why you were asking?”

 

“Ok, well I don’t understand what the fuck is going on.” Chris laughed, tipping himself back into the seat, and snapping another picture, the shutter sound snapping the last bit of patience in Hazel’s body. Without looking away from the road, he swatted the phone out of Chris’ hand, into his face, smiling when there was a resounding thunk.

 

Disgruntled and clearly annoyed Chris socked Hazel in the arm, ignoring the violent threats of de-balling, and curses that followed. They sat quietly for the moment, Chris rubbing his face, Hazel rubbing his arm, and the radio playing a song neither knew the words to. He knew he should apologize, make amends quickly, but something in him said that he should let it be - he assumed it was the brat in him. Chris huffed every few seconds, crossing his arms over his chest, shifting the whole car - when Hazel looked over, he could almost see the wheels turning behind brown locks.

 

“What-.”

 

“Oh!” They looked at one another, both chuckling, Hazel gesturing for Chris to talk first.

 

“We are going to Missoula because… because… it’s a big city?” Hazel laughed,

“Is that really the only reason?”

 

“Currently? Yes?” They laughed, arguing about the reasoning, trying to plan their trip a little better - Chris pulled the map out again, following the road they were one until he found where he wanted to go. After a couple brief corrections (mainly, Chris realizing he had mixed Missoula and a place called Hope up) did they adjust everything. Chris was writing it up, listening to the small details Hazel insisted they include.

 

“Ok. Get supplies, go to Hope, specifically the Whitetails” Chris underlined the name a few times, “Yada, Yada,” he waved his hand through the air, “Hike the trails and camp for a night. Then straight to Washington to Cle Elum?” Hazel nodded along, smiling when Chris drew a smiley face on the paper and set the notebook in the middle seat. Aside from that part of the plan, they had also decided on actually stopping in Missoula, Chris having a friend that would let them crash for a night or two, “to shower and shit,” as Chris had put it. Hazel rolled his eyes.

 

He was used to three or four days without a proper shower, either out of pure laziness, or not wanting to take a shower that was so cold, the balls he had only just recently gotten, would deteriorate into nothing, (not a big fan.) But a nice warm shower before they went up into the forest might do them both some good, especially with the heat that was going to be prevalent in Montana. It was already getting stifling in the car, Chris cranking on the AC full blast when the sun hit highest in the sky.

 

And then the drive was silent - neither of them felt the need to talk, just sit in a comfortable silence, Chris on his phone, taking pictures, recording small videos of something he saw in the distance, or napping. Although his naps consisted of about five minutes, before he was awake and looking alarmed. He waved off any of Hazel’s worried expressions, nestling back into the seat and humming along to the song that was playing.

 

Hazel found the drive to be simple enough, not too many hills, and the roads were relatively straight. And while he was the only one of the two that could legally drive, he wasn’t very good at it. Too distracted, caught himself drifting off, and the car would drift with him. Chris never commented, and Hazel didn’t feel the need to explain himself.

 

Aside from the plains and fields of farmland, there were a couple mountains off in the distance, displaying a tall, beautiful forest that he found himself smiling at. The forest was honestly his favorite place, so easy to get lost in, to hide in - every day was a new adventure in one.

 

A sign caught Hazel’s attention, he smacked Chris awake to point it out, looking over to see what the other thought. Chris shrugged, stretching himself out as they merged off the highway onto a small back road that led to the small, rustic, store front.

Only one other car, a beat up white truck, was parked in the parking lot. The man inside smiled gently at them as they passed.  It was homey on the inside, covered in pictures of locals and the states landmarks. In the corner closest to the door, there was a large Bigfoot statue that Chris made Hazel take a picture with before posing for his own. The man behind the counter smiled widely at them, rows of white teeth peeking out behind his cracked lips.

 

“Howdy, boys. What can I do for ya?”

 

Chris pointed at the snack aisle, Hazel waving him off as he stepped towards the counter. “Hi, we’re just looking for some hiking gear. Slings, a harness, maybe a tent, some rope, and if you’ve got one, a belay?” The man looked a little surprised, rubbing the look off his face with a hand. He scratched at his beard before moving through the store, Hazel following behind. A couple items were snatched here and there, the man commenting on the strength of some of the ropes, checking over his shoulder when he knocked off prices. Hazel took the one he was used to, testing it with his hands.

 

They moved down a couple aisles, the man finding a smaller belay and passing it to Hazel, who looked it over carefully. After deeming it sturdy enough, he followed the man back towards the counter, Chris meeting them at the head of an aisle with arms full of snacks and drinks. Hazel grimaced, the man laughing.

 

“Where are you two heading?”

 

“Hope.” Chris replied, leaning himself on the counter to stretch his legs, Hazel watching him with a disgusted face, absolutely hating the small talk. The man nodded, pointing his thumb back at some frames hanging on the wall. The one that Hazel could pick out, and seemed the most relevant to the conversation, was one of the store owner and chubbier man standing in front of what looked like a bar. The sign was barely visible, but Hazel could make out the word Eagle.

 

“My buddy, Gary Fairgraves lives up there. Owns a bar called the Spread Eagle. Great food. Stop in there if you have a chance.”  Hazel agreed to it, absolutely noting that he should avoid the bar at all costs. Going to a fairly rural town was already bad enough, but him placing his very queer ass in the bar of that rural town, might not mix well with the locals. That sounds a bit rash, and he guessed he was generalizing a whole town without actually knowing anyone, but it wasn't like he was going to stop in with the locals and discuss his life with them. He was gonna hightail it to the mountains and die in the forest before ever stepping foot in another store.

 

Chris seemed pretty adamant on keeping the conversation rolling, knocking off some questions in that stupid voice he seemingly liked to use on country folk. It was the same one that he used back at the restaurant with the older woman, though this time, the man wasn’t five seconds away from stabbing him.

 

“Hiking? It’ll be a lot of fun up in the Whitetails.” Hazel looked from Chris to the man. Expecting one of them to continue talking, but it just stopped. Chris was checking his phone, the man scanning items, Hazel didn’t even want to look at the total. Not content with the lack of explanation, Hazel leaned as calmly against the counter as he could, catching the owners eye. He smiled.

 

“You been up there before?” The man hummed, off-handedly making a comment about the fishing spots that littered the trails.

 

“Son and I used to go up there all the time before…” Hazel and Chris both looked up at the abrupt stop. The man stared off behind them, Hazel turning his head to find what he was looking at. Out in the parking lot, the man in the white truck was staring back at them, that same smile on his face. Hazel looked back at the man behind the counter, his stare on Hazel, smiling like he hadn’t just mentally freaked himself out.

 

“The Whitetails have great trails to walk. Always clean, locals are nice too.” He stuffed their items into a couple paper bags, ignoring the cousin’s alarmed glance at one another. “If you guys are into Squatch huntin’ they have a couple good sighting areas up there.” Chris perked up at that, a smile stretching across his face, eyes landing on Hazel who was back to scowling, clearly uninterested in the topic of Gorilla Man, numero uno. “Not our cup of tea.” He forked over a hefty sum of money, wincing with the sound of the register.

 

That earned Hazel a laugh from the man - he offered to help carry their things out to the car, both turning him down, “better if you stay inside! It’s hot!” Chris said with his charming smile. They turned to leave.

 

“Praise be to you.” Was the man's last words, soft and delicate. Hazel stopped dead in his tracks, repeating the words in his head, before smiling and bidding the man goodbye. Chris took the majority of the bags, stuffed between his arms, while Hazel strapped the tent onto his back. As they were leaving, the white truck sped off loudly. It seemed like everyone wanted to get away as quickly as Hazel did.

 

“He had somewhere to be.” Chris laughed, Hazel giving a worried huff of laughter. On the hood of the car was a piece of paper, Hazel going towards it before anything else. Letting Chris struggle with the trunk loudly. “Least you could do is open it for me!” Hazel waved him off, picking up the paper and studying it. The first thing that caught his eyes was the cross at the upper right corner of the paper. Tugging the keys from his pocket, he inspected the two together, the metal of the keychain Uncle Joey had connecting loudly - it looked way too similar. Chris rounded the car, looking annoyed, as he slid the tent off his cousin’s arm.

 

“What? Is it a pamphlet?” He shook his head, reading off aloud the words at the top.

“ _Welcome, weary travelers. Eden’s Gate awaits your arrival._ ”

" _The Father expects you for the collapse…"_ What the hell?

 

The lettering looked professional, the paper was even high grade card stock. Whoever this Eden’s gate group was, they had some serious money stacked behind them. Hazel flipped it over, the back was blank, before reading the front again, “Eden’s Gate? What the actual fuck is that?” Chris shrugged as he came back to the front of the car, a bright orange popsicle in his mouth, and took the paper.

 

His eyes scanned it momentarily before he stuffed it all into his front pocket, ignoring the confused and somewhat disgusted look sent his way. “Looks like whatever it is, is happening in Fall’s End.” Chris moved to get in the car, Hazel staying put, staring down at his now empty hand, that ache of fear creeping through his gut.

 

Hazel had been correct, had guessed on the religion that Uncle Joey seemed to be following now, but he wasn’t sure why it unsettled him so much. Why would his uncle know about a housed religion in middle of nowhere, Montana? But then who had thought to give two young men a paper on some sort of religion? There had been the man in the truck - he was the only person that could have placed the paper on the car, but what for? To gain more followers? His eyes widened.

 

What if he recognized the car? Knew Uncle Joey and was now driving back home to call Joey and let him know that two people had his car. It wasn’t a good feeling; that original guilt came back like a wave, dragging him down until his chest felt tight from lack of breath. The horn of the car, screaming loud at him, startled him out of his thoughts. Chris was grinning at him from ear to ear, waving his phone in the air.

 

“Come on loser. We’re going hiking.” Hazel forced out a laugh, smoothing out his features as he rounded the car, sitting in the sweltering heat of the car, unmoving, for a moment too long. Chris stared at him, taking the keys and starting the car. In apology, Hazel smiled, slipping the car into gear and backing out of the lot. In the window of the store, he could make out the store owner, a soft smile on his face as they drove away.

 

Unnerved, because God everyone was fucking creepy, Hazel pulled back onto the highway, cranking the radio as soon as a song started playing. They were fine, their plan was set. It was going to be ok - as long as they stuck together.


	3. A Little Less Conversation

                                                             **Chris**

 

“Doesn’t that note make you feel… uneasy?”

 

It was the first thing Hazel had said since they left the shop, Chris just assumed he wanted to focus on driving. With a hum, Chris contemplated his answer, because he wasn’t really sure it made him uneasy, but more on edge, like he wasn’t sure what to think of it. This wouldn’t be his first time, since coming back from the war, he was getting a pamphlet or handout from some sort of religious group that had offered the word of God to save his damned soul. Most of the practitioners had Hawkeye vision and could spot him from across the courtyard of a mall, or when he was walking out of a grocery store.

 

Chris wasn’t an easy to anger kind of guy, always keeping a level head, but when those people walked up to him, like he was a scared puppy, invaded his space, putting a hand on his arm, or trying to hug him, talking about how God could heal him, save him, that had rightfully pissed him off. So he could see where Hazel was worried, already knowing the life of being shunned out of a religion for personal reasons.

 

“Yes and No.”  Hazel threw him a wicked side eye, and it made Chris want to play the short answer game again to see how long it took for his cousin to snap. But he refrained, smiling down at his phone, looking through the mildly annoyed texts from his sister. Each one berating and agreeing with him - bipolar attitude much?

“Religion is weird to people not involved, but it is kind of weird that it says it’s expecting us for the Collapse? Whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

 

He tapped out a very passive-aggressive text in response to his sister, sending it once it looked promising - he seriously couldn’t understand the annoyance his family had with the two of them not wanting to be a part of the family camping. If they had been there, they would have all whined that Hazel didn’t want them to call him the wrong name, and would have been even more annoyed that they couldn’t have fireworks or guns around Chris. He shook his head when he got a full page back from his sister.

 

(“It’s not hard to fit in Chris! You just refuse to try! Think about what we are going through with this. You are being selfish.”) Those words stood out to him the most throughout his skim reading of her response. It made his blood boil.

 

Chris had tried really hard to fit back in after Iraq… he didn’t even want to go originally, but his dad… wanted him to go? There was never a true enough understanding as to why they were forcing him out of the house. He suspected it had to do with him coming out as gay. Since they couldn’t truly accept the fact, they decided to get rid of him, man him up, see if it would straighten him out. He almost wanted to tell them it made him gayer, having all those other guys around him, especially on the nights he couldn’t sleep and he got some help. But he supposed that would make them even angrier.

 

But he really tried… tried to fire a gun, tried to sit through a fireworks show, tried to get on a plane; honestly he tried, but it all… blew up in his face. His family just didn’t understand, wouldn’t give him a chance to explain. Blamed him for it, played the victim.

 

He remembered the time he heard a truck backfire outside his parent's house a year after he had gotten back - how every muscle in his body went into overdrive, how he crouched behind the couch, scrambling for a gun, a weapon, remembered the blur of his dad trying to help him up and how Chris had all but tackled him to the ground, swinging fists until he saw blood.

 

It fucked up a lot of his relationship with his dad, once he had woken up, and although his mom said she was there to help, not worried at all about him, she still refused to leave Chris’ younger brothers alone with him. It made him truly feel like a monster.

 

But if whatever that note had been, was truly just religious propaganda, and the group of Eden’s Gate was truly only looking for more members, then it should have no negative feelings following along. There were too many factors playing into the creep show, though. Hazel had all but vibrated out of his skin back at the store, wanting to leave as soon as he saw the man in the white truck, and even more with that unsettling pause the store owner gave. No, it wasn’t the creepy smiles, or awkward conversation, that truly freaked Chris out. It was the military grade gun box in the back of that white truck. The one that looked like it could house a whole ass rifle.

 

This was Montana - they had guns, they were going to have guns. Chris had prepped for guns, but he was seriously disturbed by it.

 

“Chris?” He closed off his thoughts, placating the thudding beat of his heart with a bright smile. He hummed at Hazel, ignoring those soft looks of concern. It felt like he was betraying Hazel, not telling him something felt wrong, but he didn’t want to worry him, didn’t want to risk their trip being ruined because he couldn’t keep his own feelings under wraps. He was just being paranoid - using his soldier head more than his civilian one. They would most certainly be fine.

 

“- It just feels too coincidental, ya know?” Wow, he hadn’t meant to miss that whole conversation. He hummed again, too awkward to ask for a repeat, making sure he looked contemplative about his own deductions. Hazel continued on, talking about sticking to their plan, not wanting to ruin it because he was too, “worried about everything. Paranoia is a bitch to live with... I-I just want us to have fun.”

 

“And we will have fun!” Ok, maybe Hazel had a soldier head as well, although his could be more related to a sixth sense of finding forest fires. The sixth sense of bad feelings - sounds like a bad sitcom meant for 20 year old's, that was mostly enjoyed by people in their late 40’s. “We’ll take lots of pictures, meet some hot country boys, with beautiful accents, and thick asses, and we’ll have a great, fucking, time!”

“More like a great time fucking!” Hazel fake wheezed, slapping his knee like he had thrown out the best joke of the year. Chris gave it to him, laughing along. He really thought Hazel would follow up with a comment about staying on task, how Chris shouldn’t think with his dick, or maybe even comment about Chris being gay, because he was fairly certain they had never dropped that topic into their small interactions beforehand. No, instead Hazel said, with utmost confidence, “I am gonna get laid during this trip.” A more hysterical laugh jumped up Chris’ throat before he could stop it, turning to stare wide eyed at his cousin, who only shrugged in response, before jumping into a laughing fit, as if he couldn't believe he said it.

 

“Get that good country dick down?”

 

“Hell yeah! Ya know the song, Hoedown throwdown?” Hazel ignored Chris’ pleading laughs, waving his hand dramatically back at himself, “Well, I’m the hoe.”

When Chris could get a breath out, his stomach aching from his laughter, he asked, “Are we talking about the song by Hannah Montana?” Hazel gaped at him, a mix of clear realization and lack of belief washing over his features. Clearly Chris wasn’t on the same page, his cousin looking from him back to the road, waving a hand in the air. Chris laughed waiting;

 

“Hannah… Montana! First off!” He watched Chris sigh in his own understanding, before continuing on, “Second, Miley sang it, you bastard.”

 

“Bitch, I don’t watch Hannah Montana! It’s a kids’ TV show.”

 

“It was in the movie you, fuck face!” They laughed, laughed until Hazel was forced to pull over because he couldn’t see and Chris was almost certain he was gonna throw up. His stomach really hurt by the end of it, and as they merged back into the non-existent traffic, wiping tears from their eyes, he felt a little better.

 

***

 

His sister texted him only five more times after that long ass one. He hadn’t responded to a single one, just glanced at them and left her on read. Each one detailed the lack of trust she had in either of them; they were too young, too naive, Chris was still too weak minded, Hazel was manic and had a temper. Another notification popped up, his older brother. He was so sick of them, the way they treated him, how they treated Hazel. Neither of them had the mental capacity to deal with their family of 40+ people in a tiny campground with no foreseeable escape.

 

He was going to respond to both of them, leave them a simple “fuck off :)” just to dictate his annoyance, but as they got closer to Hope, the signal on his phone dipped out of existence, the phone going automatically into airplane mode. Well, that cancelled out his fun time plans for the evening. Instead he decided not getting any sort of response would be better. With a smile on his face, he blocked both their numbers.

 

***

 

“How much further?” Chris looked from the road to his lost signal, trying to remember the last time he had looked at the GPS. Maybe it was when he first set it up, or when Hazel had demanded to know what his next turn was, even if it was around 75 miles away… He refreshed the app, watching it freeze and crash all in a single second. With a string of curses, he unfolded the map, shaking out the creases, and followed the crude lines he had drawn previously. He ticked off the roads they had passed, “Last time it said about an hour?”  

 

“Last time? Siri not telling you?”

 

“Bitch lost the signal, she’s an airplane now.” Chris made a gesture of a plane with his hand, faking sadness. Hazel ignored him.

 

“Well, I need to know where I’m going. Let me know when the bitch comes back.”

“It’s a great song, Graham Hazel Avila!” He could see the sneer hidden behind a wicked smile. There had been almost a 20 minute debate about putting that song on their road trip playlist - Hazel saying it wasn’t the mood for it, and that it had absolutely no right. Chris vouched it would fit right in. “Absolutely not.” Chris chuckled.

 

***

 

Chris checked his phone periodically, watching farmland merge into trees, tall, and intimidating, hoping the signal would return. Hazel had luckily remembered the name of the street they would need to turn on - they promised they would be driving a little slower to find it, just so they wouldn’t miss it. They only missed two more turns before they followed the rest of I-56 through to Hope..

 

***

 

The signal never came back, Chris resorting to reading the map, asking Hazel to call out landmarks, or street names that he could see. Clearly neither of them had a clue where they were or how to read signs because it wasn’t until that full hour had passed that Chris pondered, “Did we pass Lincoln?” There was a groan of anguish. Hazel cursed under his breath, slowing down, and peeking over his shoulder, before flipping a very illegal U-turn.

 

***

 

“I Spy with my little eye… something blue.”

 

“The lake.” Hazel deadpanned back, face void of any and all emotion as Chris guwaffed loudly at him. If he wasn’t so fearful of losing his hand, he would have patted Hazel on the head, giving him a soothing compliment, but Hazel was tense, and annoyed (Chris found himself on the chopping block because he wasn’t “good at giving directions.”)

 

They had missed another turn, forced to traverse a thin, windy road up a mountain until there was a decent turn off. Chris had tried to make light of the situation, commenting that it would be easier once they had actually crossed over into Hope County, but Hazel snapped back, practically gnashing his teeth as he called Chris an idiot in a variety of other words. He apologized afterwards, once the road was one they recognized from the map, explaining his stress, his anxiety, the lack of pills he had taken that day…

 

Chris smiled down at his hands, adding a tally in the notebook, underneath Hazel’s name. Eight times he had guessed right. Chris was giving him a chance, allowing him to jump to conclusions, assume Chris was stupid, before giving one that would stump him all day. That was the plan he always used. After hours of playing it in the desert with his Squad, they would all loudly declare that Chris was last pick, they would all guess - if he won, he’d get their dessert rations for a week, if they won, Chris had to clean their boots. Chris always muttered, whined, complained about his poor choices, before he would look around them, scanning as far as he could and announced a simple color. Any color, usually one not naturally given. Pale blue-gray.

 

Each person only got two guesses, before the game would be officially ruled as over, and they would all call out objects. Voices rising over one another. Chris would sit with a smile on his face - once the final man, or in their squads case, woman, had guessed, he would proudly smile, flashing his teeth and say they were all wrong. To this day, no one had ever beaten him, and he had never given away his trick, because that would ruin his fun, ruin the 4 year streak he had going.

 

“Ok, Hazel. Your turn!” Hazel groaned, gripping the steering wheel but flicking his eyes around the car, and outside to pick something. He paused, face lifting slightly as he caught sight of something he liked. When he looked at Chris, it was with that dorky smile that made him look so much like his kid self -

 

“I Spy something green.” Chris creased his brows, looking around the car before following Hazel’s line of sight to a sign.

 

HOPE COUNTY - ANCIENT BISON TUNNEL 3 MILES:

 

Chris grinned, they really were both awful in the car, and now they were so close!

 

“Fuck yes! Is it that sign?” He laughed through each word, bouncing so much that it shook the car, letting Hazel slap his arm gently as he confirmed the right answer. God, Chris was so ready to be outside the car, camping with just one person, someone that was slightly less annoying than the rest of his family. But right now, he had to school Hazel. It was his time to shine!

 

“Ok, I spy with my little eye,” he looked around the car, stifling the excitement of the journey coming to an end, looked out into the trees, acting as if he was really reaching for something, trying to pick something not too hard, and not too easy - smiling when he found the color he wanted. “Something yellowish-brown.”

 

Hazel looked over at Chris, disgusted, then down at the steering wheel, before adjusting his gaze back to the road.

 

“Yellow… Brown.”

"Yes, it's yellow-brown." Maybe Hazel hadn't heard him right, maybe he was just trying to decide what could be yellowish brown out in the middle of nowhere where greens and blues were the most predominant.

"So it's a number? Uh… three?" Blinking rapidly, Chris snapped his head to look at Hazel, he had to have looked panicked because Hazel laughed.

 

“What? Think I’d forget about your synesthesia?” Chris gawked, mouth falling open as he tried to explain himself, but he had lost, finally after 4 fucking years of a constant win streak and Hazel had single handedly thrown it out the window. Through his laughter Hazel demanded to know if he was right, Chris couldn't respond, only stare dead-eyed out the windshield.

“Either way, Chris. That’s totally cheating. The object has to be visible to both of us, not just to you.”

 

Chris smirked, tapping his foot a little more aggressively against the floorboard, “Oh yeah? Where’s the rule book?” He wasn’t mad, definitely wasn’t mad about this. Hazel laughed again, taking a second to glance at him, “You’re not seriously mad, are you?” Chris didn’t respond, shoving his thumb in between his lips to gnaw at the skin, “Holy shit. You are!” He listened to Hazel laugh, before swatting at the hand that floated towards his face, Hazel cooing soft baby taunts and making kissy faces, and turning the radio up as loud as he could.

 

***

 

Chris demanded they stop to take a picture in front of the tunnel, not only for memory sake, but also because he had to piss like a racehorse, and there wasn’t single rest stop in their view. It was nice to step out into the mountain air, the first brush of it was cold and sharp, before he was warmed by the sun. He stretched his legs first, kicking them out, listening to the satisfying pops, sending Hazel a wicked smile when the other grimaced. “You sound like an old man.”

 

He shrugged, shifting around to turn away from Hazel and the road to open his fly. A shudder of relief washed through him at the feeling of relieving himself; a noise he tried his hardest to emphasize, slipped past his lips. When he looked back at Hazel, the man’s face squished up in confusion and disgust, Chris decided to be an ass. He winked, smirking as best he could. Hazel’s face contorted, completely turning disgusted. He mock retched into his hand, then bent over and made the noise again, earning a laugh from Chris.

 

“Why don’t you love me?”

 

“Because you’re fucking ugly.” Chris winced at the rebuttal, grabbing his heart in mock hurt. He knew the comment wasn’t genuine, based on the large grin plastered over the older man’s face.

 

“Is that why you never look at me during?” The smile was gone and Hazel was charging Chris while he put his dick away, the apologies he gave weren’t heard. He let himself be shoved, be pushed towards the railing of the road, giggling the whole way as Hazel cursed at him.

 

“Fucking nasty bastard! Go check the car while I pee.” Chris raised his hands in compliance, making his way towards the car, glancing back to watch his cousin jump the railing and squat behind it. It was weird, not Hazel squatting, but the fact he referred to him as his cousin. They weren’t actually related. Not even by marriage, they were just close… At first their parents, specifically Hazel and Chris’ dads, had been inseparable since their younger years, and once they had kids, they wanted that same connected relationship. There had never been a day in his life as a child, that he hadn’t seen Hazel - once they got in school, he remembered people making comments, saying they would fall in love, make a real family together… That thought made him want to vomit. People were disgusting sometimes.

 

The hood of the car was popped, Chris checking fluids, and wiping the sweat and oil onto his jeans when Hazel came back looking annoyed as ever. Neither spoke as Chris fiddled with the dipstick, pressing it back in after he figured out the level of oil. Hazel commented about a slight thunk he was hearing while driving, asking if there was any way to fix it. Chris hummed, pulling out the fan vent of the engine and whacking the muck off onto his knee.

 

“Go sit down and I’ll see what I can find.” Hazel left him the keys after grabbing something from the trunk, wandering over to a small patch of grass and falling onto it with a loud huff. After 30 minutes of investigating, he couldn’t find anything that would cause the car anymore trouble, after refilling the oil, and making sure they had water, Chris concluded it was ok to drive, giving Hazel a thumbs up as he wiped his sweaty face on his shirt.

 

Hazel was still sat on the grass, eyes closed, and head tilted back, the sun boring down on him. He looked warm, and Chris was really not into the idea of being any warmer than he already was. Still he found himself taking the open space beside Hazel, nudging him with his shoulder. He smiled and passed over a water bottle, still chilled, allowing Chris to drink one half of the bottle and dump the rest onto his chest and face.

 

“Only upside to leather seats,” he gasped once the water was empty and his face felt cool, “Is I can sit on them with a wet ass and not have to worry.” There was a hum of response before the quiet settled back in. The only sound was the forest, birds chirping, crickets squeaking, the pleasant sound of a car coming up the hill. Chris sighed - listening to the awful chug of something too heavy, going too slowly, up a steeper incline. With the way the truck wheezed, he wasn’t sure it would make it past the marker.

 

“Hey, so why’d you agree to go hiking?”

 

“Hmm?” Chris looked over at Hazel, his knees pulled up to his chest, hands propping up his chin.

 

“Well I-. It’s just… I didn’t know you liked to hike.” Chris rolled his shoulders as he sat back, resting his weight on his arms leaned behind him.

 

“Didn’t really. I don’t really. Never been. But I heard you were a ranger up in Cle Elum, so I thought, “Hey it would be nice to go visit!” And I found out it was a whole days walk to your tower from the parking lot… So I thought, I might as well start liking it.” Hazel huffed out a laugh, looking almost guilty;

 

“Who told you?” It was so quiet, whispered into the crook of his arm, that Chris wasn’t sure he was actually spoken to.

 

“Mykie.” Hazel nodded slowly, not looking up, not making an further comments. The quiet returned. Chris had remembered the conversation so clearly, his sister being her usual self; catty, and unforgiving. How she sneered at Hazel just up and leaving his family, then demanding they come and get him, ruin their family vacation, so he could be the center of attention. He shook his head, hanging it back in an attempt to ease the tension headache forming. The sun was warm on his face.

 

It really sucked that they were honestly being chastised for trying to do something else… Hazel found his dream job in the woods, and Chris was finally figuring himself out as a person, and their “family” (Chris wasn’t sure how Hazel’s immediate family actually acted) thought they were being selfish. He sighed again, wiping a hand over his forehead. It was getting hotter.

 

They needed to get going; they were literally where they needed to be, they just had to find the next part, but it was comfy on the grass, calming, and the idea of getting back into the sweltering hot car, and being crammed for another hour, didn’t sound the most pleasing.

 

“We should probably go before Roger gets even hotter.” He ignored the soft “Roger?” and stood slowly, stretching one more time to make sure he was all cracked out. Hazel followed up, shoving away Chris’ offered hand.

 

As they got closer to the car, the rumble of the truck got louder, and as Hazel was getting ready to get into the car, door barely open, the loud blare of the trucks horn startled him. He jumped, pressing himself against the car. Chris watched with wide eyes, -  the truck was all white, except for a symbol etched on the side, in matte black paint. That same cross. The man in the front seat didn’t even bother to look back or slowdown. Now that he was on flat land, he was pushing the engine to pick up speed. Hazel screamed out profanities, flipping the man off as he disappeared around the corner of the tunnel.

 

“Fucking prick.” Chris stood outside the car as Hazel got in, could hear the curses about the heat, could hear him calling to him, asking if he was going to get in. To say Chris was freaking out, would be an understatement; he was full blown creeped out now. Just like Hazel had been, finally feeling that weird dread settling somewhere in his stomach. That truck had the cross, the one that was on the flyer, the one their Uncle Joey had on his keys… What the actual fuck was this group? The car started up, the hum of the engine idling as Hazel rolled the window down to look out at Chris.

 

“You getting in? I promise the AC is on.” Chris flicked his eyes down to him, scanning for that same worry to be etched anywhere, to know he wasn’t the only one freaking out, but it wasn’t there. Hazel hadn’t seen. Should he tell him? He was already on edge because he didn’t have his medication, because he was exhausted and still slightly hung over. No… Chris wasn’t going to…

 

He forced a smile on, hoping it hid his other feelings, because no matter how hard he tried, Hazel was great at reading him. It seemed to pass the inspection as Hazel smiled back and gestured to get inside. The door clicked open easily, and Chris slid in, grimacing when he found the AC wasn’t on. Hazel giggled at his suffering, before tearing out of the dirt pull off, and finally speeding through the tunnel. Chris wasn’t sure if he was gonna be sick, either from this new information, or because of slight heat stroke. He kept the window down the whole way in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone knows the titles of the chapters are songs. All of the songs are ones that these to losers listen to during their lives in this.  
> 


	4. Somethin' Bad (part 1)

 

                                                       **Hazel**

 

With each minute that passed, the sun sank lower in the sky. They weren’t going to make it before dark. And although Hazel had tried to remind himself to pack up the food and supplies into the hiking bags BEFORE they had left the store, he really hadn't remembered. So while he liked to think of himself as a practical, clear-headed thinker, all signs of his stupidity would point in the opposite direction. He more likely fell into the category of a procrastinator, saying he would have plenty of time to do something very important, only to forget and panic as he rushed to finish the project. They were going to be stuck in a parking area, most likely without a single light, rushing to shove all of their food and belongings into the comfortable bags Hazel had bought, before a bear came to eat them.

 

He sighed. By Chris’ calculations, and those were loosely based numbers, they still had an hour of driving to do to cross from the Henbane River, over into the Whitetail Mountains. And it was a fairly straight forward trip, signs giving them direction just as much as the map; Chris, who learned from his previous mistakes of waiting till the last second to drop directions, began calling them out ahead of time, making sure to repeat when he felt they were close.

 

“The old Deer Tiger Mine, old enough to be your great grandpa, still in operation, but not sure what for.” Chris crinkled the map, flipping it around to uncover the landmark map they had gotten at the mouth of the Ancient Bison Tunnel. At the very back, someone had added another tiny pamphlet with the same gold cross of Eden’s Gate, that spoke of their own landmarks and locations and times of sermons. Chris had cleared his throat with a laugh, slipping that one into the door of the car.

 

Hazel glanced over at the mine as they passed, all but slamming on the breaks when he saw a giant billboard. No, he was just being paranoid, he didn’t see what he thought he saw. Chris complained about the abrupt stop, looking to Hazel, then behind them when he threw the car in reverse, speeding back so they could see the entire sign.

 

EDEN’S GATE: WE LOVE YOU

 

They looked at each other, back at the sign, then back at each other. Hazel laughed, Chris laughed, they laughed until it felt wrong to laugh - Hazel felt sick, stomach sick, like he was about to make a presentation for something he knew nothing about. There was nothing wrong with freedom to express religious outlooks, hell he knew the upsides and downsides to it all, but this felt… very reminiscent of Jim Jones…

 

With a soft clearing of his throat, Hazel shifted the car back into gear and drove away from the sign, listening to the thumping in his chest, and the soft crinkles of the map.

“We’re gonna turn right on Mountain Pass…” He hummed back, stuck in his own thoughts to answer any further. Why the hell was this group so pushy? They gave out flyers, put invitations in pamphlets for the county, had billboards, hell they probably even had a tour bus. It showed they were willing to go a certain distance to get new followers, so what would stop them from doing more Jim Jones things to get wherever the hell they were trying to go?

   

“Hey, there’s a gas station. Wanna stop?” Chris pipped in just as the sign for Mountain Pass came into view. They still had a decent amount of gas; the thought of stopping again, gave Hazel an idea of some conversations he didn’t want to have. He shook his head, letting Chris settle himself back into his seat to check for the next turn. The roads narrowed out, turning into more country backroads as opposed to brand new highway. The car jumped, rumbled, and chugged along the curves. It wasn’t until Chris pressed a hand to Hazel’s arm, did he realize he was clacking his teeth, the worry finally showing physical signs.

 

He tried to focus more on the road, on the surroundings whizzing past them. The trees were bright green, grouped together farther back from the road, enough so that fields could be erected from the empty space. Pretty white flowers grew right up to the lining of the hills - just like the ones right outside the tunnel. Chris had picked one, held it up to his face to smell, and pointed it at Hazel with a surprised guwaff.

 

“Smells like lemon!” Hazel didn’t agree or disagree, just smelled it and gave an off smile as he grabbed the pamphlet. Maybe it was a state flower, one that was specific to Hope County. It stank that’s for sure, and Chris, the flower loving vet, absolutely had to keep it with him, therefore it was leaving a weird festering scent in the car.

Even if Hazel rolled the windows down, the scent from outside, the flowers in full-bloom in their respective fields as well, there was no escaping it. It felt like it was drowning him.

 

“Holy shit. Look at that Gate.” Hazel had already seen the beginnings of it as they drove towards the mountains. The tallest spires poking above the short valley trees, but as they got closer, he truly saw how medieval it looked. A large Welcome sign was hung over it, made from what looked like wood. Homemade was the best way to describe it. He slowed as they passed under it, both of them checking out the walls mossy exterior. It looked sturdy, older, yet oddly out of place. They looked at each other after Chris snapped a quick, shaky picture, and shrugged. Chris pointed out the Hotel they were passing, pulling the tour guide map back out.

 

“The King Hot Springs Hotel. Currently known as the most Haunted building in Hope County. There are a total of SIXTEEN known murders in the building! One of which was the owners OWN DAUGHTER!?” Chris muttered some curses, reading off a few more facts as the building disappeared around the corner. “The Henbane River was originally known as Prosperity Lake before the small town of Prosperity, with less than 150 people, had all its occupants vanish in one night.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“They all fucking disappeared.” Chris shuddered, shaking an imaginary ghost off of him.

 

***

 

“Turn… right on the next bridge we see.”

 

“Turn right,” Chris hummed in approval, “on the next bridge?” Hazel raised his eyebrows, side-eyeing Chris just to make sure he was relaying information correctly.

 

“No! After! AFTER! Turn right, AFTER, the next bridge we see.” He put extra emphasize on “after” just to clarify his mistake. He was laughing loud, smacking his stomach, Hazel joining in with small huffs. He was too tired to really give full belly laughs. Dusk was just about to hit the valley and they were barely into the mountains. Hazel was almost ready to just sleep in the car, deal with the journey up in the early breaks of dawn when they encountered their first other car in Hope County. It was an off white truck parked in the rest stop area Hazel was going to pull off into.

 

Two men, both scraggly looking, like they had gone months without a shower, were standing at the front - one was leaned into the hood of the car, checking the engine, while the other watched them as they came to a stop at the sign. Chris waved, Hazel waiting for the man to charge the car - he didn’t. He simply waved back, a smile on his face. Hazel smiled as well as he could before turning right and zipping down the road. Chris seemed to be fine with the decision, shoulders relaxing and hands going back to rest on his thighs.

 

“I guess we both thought the worst on that, huh?” Chris spoke quietly, chuckling once he got it all out.

 

“Oh most definitely.” The sun was completely set, the stars coming out seemingly one by one, as they rounded the final corner, Chris stating, “and the visitor parking should be right-. Oh come on!” Hazel saw it just after the last word left Chris’ mouth.

 

VISITOR PARKING LOT UNDER CONSTRUCTION

 

Hazel sighed, looking around for a simple pull off area, noticing the Ranger Box sat right across from the parking lot, the light still on. He pulled into the road, parking the car and getting out, ignoring Chris’ questions. The ranger box was smaller, more of an informational booth than anything; there was a man inside, short, stout, and he smiled when Hazel got close enough. He slid open the little glass divider window, putting out a smoke he had just started. There was that worrying sense of dread that this man would be a part of whatever Eden’s Gate was, would say blessed day, or something along those lines - creep Hazel out in any way he could, but the man seemed relatively normal.

 

“Howdy there! Little late to be out here.”

 

“Yeah, we just got in from out of town. We were looking for a place to camp.” The man smiled, glancing out to the car. A. Whittaker was typed out in black lettering on his name tag. He leaned across his desk, opening a small folder and pulling out what looked to be a map. With a sharpie, he circled a couple places on the map then starred two more places.

 

“You guys in the Whitetails for just camping? Or?” Hazel startled back, realizing he was leaning half of his body in through the window. Luckily the man was too busy writing something to notice.

 

“We wanted to get some hiking in too, but we got here a little later than expected.”

 

“Ah, yeah. That happens. People don’t think Hope County is as big as it is. Takes ya a little while to get around.” He paused to hand the map to Hazel, who looked it over carefully, glancing back at the car to wave it  at Chris.

 

“There is a camping spot up past McKinley Dam. Well the best spots are over there.” Hazel opened the map up, looking for the names the man called out; the confusion gained him a laugh, the ranger tilting the paper so he could point out the areas as he talked. Each one was marked, circled in sharpie, a small area close to the damn was starred.

 

“If you head past Grandview, follow the road up until the sign for McKinley Dam, then take a left and you should pass over the damn, then by the water filtration plant, and keep driving down the mountain.” He lit the cigarette back up, taking a couple drags, and blowing the smoke away from Hazel.

 

“The first road on the left leads up to the Old Vet Center,” He gave a dry chuckle, rubbing at his chin, an anxious move Hazel didn’t like, “owned by a snarky guy. The campsites are near the land, just be careful not to get too close. People spook easy around here.” Hazel nodded, absorbing the information. Was the vet center not running anymore? Was the guy old and ready for a fight at any cost? He was almost tempted to ask the man if there was a reason they hadn’t come across a whole lot of other people. But eventually decided against it. He bent the paper down, letting the man point to the star on the map.

 

“Go across the bridge, first right is a small cabin, my cabin. You guys can park there for a couple days free of charge. You’ll just have to hike back up the road to get to the site.”

 

“Oh, thanks.” He nodded, blowing out another puff of smoke, before bidding Hazel a good night and safe trip. Hazel returned the farewell, fast walking back to the car to relay the new found information. Chris looked fairly surprised as Hazel slipped back into the driver seat, adjusting, and passing the paper off to Chris. As he drove Chris listed off more things as they passed them by.

 

“Grandview Hotel, old building, was an infirmary for a couple years when there was the threat of war.” He turned down the road towards the Dam, Chris whistling as they drove over it. It was like any other dam Hazel had seen. The level of the river was a little high, but other than that it all seemed in order. The filtration plant was set back into a large area, and from the outside it looked like a damn fortress, but with low lighting and the sleepiness tugging at Hazel’s mind, he couldn’t see much beyond the gate. Just little bits.

 

“Oh hey!” Chris sat up a little straighter, holding the pamphlet for Eden’s Gate, reading over something with the light from his phone. “McKinley Dam is a sight for Eden’s Gate.” he cleared his throat, sitting up a tad bit straighter. “McKinley Dam has served its purpose as protector of the Valley below, allowing careful measurements of God’s fine waters to not drown its people.”

 

“Oh my God. Get on with it.” Hazel rolled his eyes. How did he know that the Eden’s Gate pamphlet was going to sound so religiously pompous? Chris chuckled, making a noise as he read ahead, stopping all noise abruptly. When he didn’t respond to his name, Hazel looked at him, noticing the worry growing again, weighing on his features.

 

“Chris?”

 

“McKinley Dam now is in the hands of Eden’s Gate, made into a future home, and protector, for the Faithful followers of the Father to protect them against the Collapse.” The collapse? Chris beat him too it, asking quietly what that even meant, Hazel couldn’t give him a solid answer, opening and closing his mouth to try and find something to say. He should have asked the Ranger at the box if there was something weird going on. Hell, something weird was going on, but what the hell was it?

 

He stopped the car, right in front of the dirt road, looking down into pitch black nothingness… Should they stay? Hazel could probably make it back to the tunnel to leave Hope County, they could camp in the car. But what would that stop? They had been out of County lines when they had gotten the initial invitation, they would have to leave the state to stop seeing this bullshit. He looked to Chris, those same conflicted emotions jumping around in his eyes when he looked back. They had come this far. It was only one night, one day, a quick hike to a waterfall, and then they would leave. Hazel nodded, Chris following suit, and they were moving again. The final bridge was right in front of them, and just as the man had said, his cabin was on the right. Hazel parked the car, waiting a second in complete silence, turning the car off. The only sound was their breathing and the hum of the motion sensor light. Neither made a move to get out…

 

“I left those popsicles in the trunk…” Hazel let out a sharp bark of laughter, Chris laughed more from his chest.

 

“Fuck. We should probably get out then.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Well, then let’s fucking do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a little late because of school. Sorry, again, enjoy this mess. I am currently rewriting a good majority of this and I only just started. It'll be interesting. Also if you noticed... I literally switched between relationships between the lads for like two weeks. Anyways, notice any mistakes? Let me know!


	5. Somethin' Bad (part 2)

                                                              **Hazel**

The cabin was of modest size - the outside had a set of antlers mounted above the main door, and a few signs hung around on the walls. The ranger had offered up the cabin, saying he was ok with them staying the night in it, as he usually slept in the box, “I just never really make it down the mountain. Fall asleep too quickly.” They, they being Hazel, had declined, but the man still told him where the spare key was. He really thought about it too, as they spent the next 20 minutes packing their belongings into new bags, along with food and ropes.

 

The area they were heading to, a waterfall that was supposedly OK to drink (Chris wanted to bottle up some and take it home, which slightly freaked Hazel out), was approximately 6 miles up the mountain. And they were nowhere near the mile marker, so for tonight they were going to find a camp spot, (making sure to avoid the Veteran Center, although Chris had said he might be able to get in, with a cheeky grin) and sleep until morning, or late afternoon. Instead of the one day, they decided two nights and two days would be perfectly fine.

 

They just had to avoid all other people because Hazel could not handle another encounter with someone that would be weird and cultish.

Chris handed him a bag, taking the remnants of the popsicle box to the garbage can close by when Hazel froze in place, the loud cracks of something echoing through the woods, deeper back, further in, not close to them, but close enough. He looked around, looked at Chris, who was rubbing his hands on his jeans, listening until the sound dissipated.

 

“Were those gunshots?” Chris stared at Hazel, closing the distance between them so he could close the trunk. Both their bags were fully stocked, ready to go.

 

“Boss. Dude, we are in the middle of Montana. Most definitely.” Hazel stayed tense as they locked up, glancing over his shoulders every few seconds as they walked back to the road. That feeling of eyes on his back didn’t leave, even as they crossed the bridge, even when there wasn’t any sign of life around them.

 

The road to the Veteran Center was as dark as it had been when they passed by it originally. A small checkpoint building was in the midst of being torn down, caution tape wrapped around its frame. Chris knocked shoulders with him, pointing to a sign farther down the road. If he squinted, Hazel could make out the name written out; Not even twenty feet down the road, there was a footpath torn out of the nature, leading down towards the river. A small camping and hiking sign was stacked on one another. Hazel took one last look at the road, then up towards the Vet center. It was quiet, nothing was going to be following them… they were fine.

 

With a deep breath he followed Chris down the path, flashlights up to scan across the grass.

 

***

** Chris**

 

“I spy with my little eye.”

 

“Dear God, Chris. We can’t even see anything.” The flashlights gave little headway into the pitch black abyss they were walking through. The gunshots had started up again, Hazel swinging his light towards any small sound he heard. Chris tried to reassure him, calling out small animals, or averting attention to something else, but little helped to ease his cousin’s mind. So he thought playing a family friendly game, that could possibly (and undoubtedly) turn into something sinister, would be distracting enough. There hadn’t been a whole lot of activity during their journey down. No run ins with animals (big ones that is. Chris had pointed out a rogue squirrel and a pretty little deer), and (thankfully) none with the gun totters.

 

With each glance around, he tried to pick something easy, more to just keep the game calm, then lead his cousin on. Nothing really popped out, gave him an idea about what he could choose. He looked between the trees, making sure to shine his light in the opposite direction that he was looking; off in the distance, most likely perched higher up on the mountain, was a cell tower. The red light on it blinking steadily… Why hadn’t he been getting service then? The entire way up his phone kept announcing the lack of it… Maybe it was something else. He shrugged, more inwardly than anything, finally spotting something he liked.

 

“Something orange.” Chris finished with a smile, letting Hazel shine his light right into his face, blinding him momentarily. He walked ahead, leaving Chris to rub at the white light behind his eyes.

 

“I swear to god, if it’s another fucking number.”

 

“It’s not!” Hazel glanced around, head already on a constant swivel, the beam of his light catching on the orange caution cone Chris was staring at, before darting down towards the river. Another shot popped off, both jumping, their lights kicking upwards for a second. Chris laughed a little, petting his chest, right over his heart to pacify the thump.

 

It took Hazel a moment to compose himself, self-soothing to a place that he started knocking off guesses. Each one was incorrect, but after Hazel called off balloon, three times in a row, Chris conceded and agreed with whatever his cousin came up with.

 

“Your turn, Boss.”

 

“Okay, uhh… something-,” another shot, Hazel jumped a few feet in the air, “Fuck! Bullet! I mean gray!” Chris chuckled, placing his hand on Hazel’s lower back, pressing him further down the path. Enough of the game, they just needed somewhere to sleep, somewhere to unwind, feel safe.

 

There was a small walked out path, barely noticeable if Chris hadn’t been staring directly at it as they finally breached the tiny hill. It led down closer to the water - he pointed it out with his light, gesturing wide so Hazel would look at it. He nodded in turn, following along the new path to an open area. Clearly people had camped at the spot before - a small burned out pit sat at the farthest corner, a small hammock strung between two trees.

 

Hazel stepped into the area first, tossing the tent down right in the center, shining his light around as he walked closer to the hammock. Chris set their food bag down, tossing his own belongings off to the side, walking to the pit to start the fire. He knew they weren’t going to need it for long, but it would be nice to have, nevertheless.

 

In the dim light of the increasing fire, they set up the tent, both grunting and groaning when the tent poles wouldn’t work with them, or they got caught in the tarp. With how drowsy they both were, Hazel still a zombie from everything (“I’m emotionally exhausted from interacting with freaky ass people.”) and Chris being stiff from lack of movement, it took them some time to finally have the tent set up. They crawled in, splaying out two sleeping bags and slipped in without taking off their day clothes. Exhaustion was quick to follow, drowning Chris until he could barely hear himself breath. It felt like he was drunk, floating on air, coherent but not enough to think properly.

 

They had left the rain tarp off, using the exposed netting at the point of the tent to watch the stars sparkle to life. It was breathtaking. Chris hadn’t enjoyed the outdoors enough as they ventured in - too strung up in his own thoughts, and his sister, and pissing Hazel off. Outside, the wildlife seemed to come alive; frogs and crickets chirping loudly, the sounds of wolves howling in the distance, the soft sound of the fire crackling drew it all together and Chris wanted to record it. After a few more seconds of lying motionless, he turned to look at Hazel, his cousin far gone in sleep, mouth slacked open, and face completely relaxed. With a stifled giggle, he found his phone laying in the corner, sliding open the camera and snapping a picture. The first one didn’t turn out, too dark, so he turned on the flash, hoping to some God that he wouldn’t wake up. He snapped the picture, holding his breath. Hazel didn’t move, not a single muscle flinching; Chris laughed quietly, covering his mouth. He sighed. The battery was almost completely drained, the little lightning bolt flashing over the battery. As he went to switch it off, he noticed the continued lack of bars; still no signal. With a scrunched face, he turned it off, watching the light of the screen disappear, before stuffing it under his pillow. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep.

 

***

 

He didn’t dream that night, just a calming, drowning sleep, that felt incredibly refreshing. It was an odd occurrence - he hadn’t slept well in years, but he felt wonderful as he sat up, stretching out his limbs, trying to avoid a Charlie horse trying to grow in his leg. It wasn’t too bright, probably early morning, the sound of the birds the biggest giveaway. They sang loudly overhead, a few flitting over the tents exposed top. Without the tarp in place, the sun had easy access to getting inside, and although it was a chilly morning (one they were experiencing in the mountains), it was rather warm inside the nylon walls. All the heat being trapped, muggy and sweltering, made Chris regret not slipping into his pajamas.

 

Hazel was still asleep, face stuffed into his pillow. It didn't looked comfortable, but Chris assumed it was the exhaustion that made him not care. With a groan, he stood, or crouched, too tall for the inside of the tent. It took him a good second to locate his bag, buried underneath all their (or to be more precise, Hazel's) things. The man was messy, evident by the way he had shoved all of his clothes in his bag, had destroyed any semblance of organization that Chris put in place with the trunk, and even then, with his bags being strewn about wherever he could find the space -  once his bag was located, he pulled out a new shirt and a pair of jeans.

 

Changing was a task in itself, making sure he kept his long limbs reigned in enough not to kick or prod Hazel, while also trying not to lose his balance. Once his shirt was on, pants halfway down his legs, he decided he should wake Hazel. If the man was anything like he was when they were kids, this was going to take a moment and a lot of band aids. Cautiously with his toes, he poked into Hazel's back; no response. A little harder, which made Hazel groan.

 

"Wakey, wakey, Boss." After a few more shoves with his foot, avoiding the aggressive swats here and there, did Hazel stir, rising up onto his elbows to glare back at Chris. In the sunlight he looked like a small angel, but the look said demon through and through. Chris laughed, saying his good mornings, while digging through his bag for a pair of socks.

 

"Why?" Hazel groaned out, plopping his face back into the pillow. Clearly someone hadn't changed in the years they had been separated. He laughed as a response, finding Hazel's bag and tossing a new shirt (one that Chris found adorable, bright and colorful; all the things Hazel didn't like to be.) and a pair of sweatpants. "Because it's morning, bitch." He turned away as Hazel sat up - somehow in his sleep, he had managed to get out of his clothes. With more space to move, and less height issues, Hazel got dressed quickly, scratching his stomach as he stretched.

 

Chris flinched when he saw scars spanning from one side of his stomach to the other. Raised and angry; it had been a year since the fire... but the marks still looked fresh. Just as quickly as he had seen them, they were gone, Hazel moving to leave the tent with his shoes in hand.

 

"LOL, whatever, punk." He threw an over the shoulder smile, his eyes creased with the grin. Chris followed him out, forgetting the lip of the tent was a thing, foot catching on the thin material and almost tipping him over. Hazel laughed, having watched the whole thing.

 

"Glad you survived that. Breakfast, then take off?" He gestured back to camp, a melodramatic wave of the hand, that was more wrist than anything, implying something Chris wasn't sure how to take, but he nodded anyways, assuming it would be brought up to him later. Or probably not. He smiled back, nodding.

***

 

"Shouldn't take us more than a couple hours to get to the fall." Hazel took another bite of his eggs, scribbling something onto the map. The man in the "box" (song joke implicated heavily,) gave them two maps, probably by accident, but it was a small win. Hazel was making these weirdly meticulous notes - stark, neat letters written in uneven rows. Chris had been watching him, in utter awe, map out the areas they would be walking, leaving notes, comments about rest stops and food breaks, areas of worry, and the easier paths. Each tick seemed overkill but Hazel promised it was going to help them in the long run; "It prevents us from getting lost, and makes sure we aren't caught out in the dark again." There were a few circles scattered across the map, around areas Chris wasn't sure they would encounter, but didn't bother asking.

He swallowed down the last of his food, wiping his face, and tossing the plate and napkin into the fire. Camp was easy to clean up, mainly just packing all their food back into a sturdy bag and stringing it to a tree. They left the tent up, not wanting to have to build it again.

 

"Usually people don't mess with a set camp..." He trusted Hazel enough to not comment. There bags were repacked, clothes left behind, Hazel piling bits of food in both bags, and stuffing what looked to be a satellite phone into his own, along with a worn compass - and they were off, just as the sun was cresting over them. It wasn’t hot, just warm in the sun, but there was clear signs it was only going to get hotter. Chris sort of regretted wearing pants; he had plenty of options for shorts, he just wasn’t sure that was hiking attire. There were enough trees overhead that the sun wasn’t beating down on them, and a small draft was blowing through, Hazel holding up his hand as they walked closer to the river, knocking off its direction and possible speed.

 

“Never been too good at that bit” He mumbled, pulling his compass out and checking his map. When he noticed Chris’ odd look, he held it up, the sun glinting off it; “Got it from my mentor.” It looked old, probably made in the early 50’s, rusty, and well used. Chris wasn’t sure he trusted the little thing - if anything happened, he had his military grade compass stashed somewhere in the bottom of his bag. For right now, while sleep was still prevalent in his head, he didn’t argue and just followed a few steps behind. Neither of them were awake enough to talk, or Chris wasn’t, and Hazel was too focused on the map. He pulled out his MP3 player, earning a sour side eye, and put the music on low. He stuffed it in his pocket, making sure it was still audible.

 

It was mostly silent during the walk up, their pace being set a little slower, both just wanting to enjoy the scenery. Hazel stopped, the way his shoulders twitched, it looked like he was circling through ideas or questions he was debating on asking. He had done it since they were little… He turned, face scrunched up in confusion, wincing at something unseen; “do you have a headache?”

 

They had stopped walking, Hazel finally fully facing him, with a large frown on his face. He said something else, something Chris couldn’t hear… he blamed it on exhaustion. Chris opened his mouth, but stopped his disagreement short. There had been the beginning of one, just at the back of his head, like he wasn’t drinking enough water. The almost empty water jug attached to his bag would say otherwise. It felt like if he slept for a little bit, the edge would go away.

 

Chris waved his hand in the air, blaming it on altitude because that could be the only other significant reason. The differences in altitude, he talked about the differences in the air, falling flat on a few sentences, ending with an audible huff. Hazel stared for a second, then two, only agreeing after rubbing his temples. He still didn’t seem convinced, glancing at something Chris wasn’t seeing, but turned around to continue down the path with a soft nod of the head.

 

***

 

The trees only got thicker the further in they walked. Nothing stood out from anything else. Everything looked the same. Chris swore they had walked past a cluster of rocks three or four times now. It was unnerving not knowing where he was, or how long it would take them to get to where they were going. But Hazel seemed so sure about everything he had written down - it was just that something didn’t feel right. Like he was walking into a building, unaware of the threats inside. That ghostly feeling of sand clogging his lungs, the hot sun beating down on his skin, overwhelmed him.

 

He shook his head, clearing the thoughts away, losing his balance as the world spun around him. Hazel caught his arm, looking alarmed for a moment before releasing his cousin and getting a better hold on his map. He had it pressed out on a rock, (That same one Chris knew they had seen before.) He watched in mild panic as Hazel grew more and more uncertain, eyes flicking between the words he had written and the marks he had made, looking around the forest and down at his compass.

 

“Can you not-.” Chris started, leaning his weight down to peer at Hazel’s face. The man looked distraught, face slack like he was drunk again. Their eyes met, a small flame of doubt broiling behind Hazel’s eyes, one that made the worry and exasperation of all the emotions Chris was feeling, boil over.

 

“You can’t read the map!?”

 

“I can’t read the fucking map.” Hazel was so quiet in his response, letting Chris grasp at his shoulders, shake him, ask a thousand questions that even Chris couldn’t follow. They sounded garbled, words falling over the ones he had barely gotten out; his tongue felt too heavy in his mouth.

 

“Ok, ok!” Chris stepped back, holding his arms out, to balance himself (possibly) and to seem somewhat in control of the emotions banging around in his chest. Hazel looked at him dead eyed, looking exhausted, looking older than he had ever before, he looked his age… He shuddered, stepping back into his cousins space, pressing a hand into the mess of curls he had tried to tie back into a ponytail.

 

Hazel sighed, taking the moment of silence to rub his eyes, and crack his neck; a way to collect himself. Chris watched, waiting - Hazel waved him off, mumbled something about his headache. When Chris backed away, he pulled himself up onto the rock, and huffed out some curses, looking over the map again. They couldn’t have gotten that far off the path, maybe a few feet away from the original markers, because there was no way Hazel was that far off.

 

He felt lost. Even more so in his own head then he did in the forest. One minute they had seemed fine, their night in the tent, out in the middle of nowhere completely calm and serene (well enough so,) but after Hazel talked about the headache, about something… he didn’t remember what it was, everything seemed to start melting away…

 

He glanced over his shoulder, making sure Hazel looked stable enough to leave alone, before moving farther away, deeper into the woods. His music was still humming from his pocket, quiet, but comforting. He followed a smaller, unkempt path down the slope of the mountain, head swiveling around to survey the trees. Off to his right, the woods only got deeper. Off in the distance, between two larger trees, he could see the trail of smoke billowing out of something. Not enough to be a machine, and too much to be a campfire... The mountain was still in view, towering over him. It looked unreachable from where he stood, the shade of it chillier than the morning sun… morning? Or was it evening?

 

The watch on his wrist was still ticking away, ticking down time. He checked the time, breath catching in his throat; 4:56 PM. That was impossible… they had only been walking for an hour, and they had left early in the day, right when the sun was coming up… How in the hell? He looked back towards Hazel, side stepping away from the location, towards the woods. Something akin to fear trickled down his limbs, flight or fight reflexes kicking in.

 

Hazel had said the hike up would only take them a couple of hours, yet here they were a lot more than a couple hours out, lost as all shit. He cursed aloud, turning towards the expansive forest, towards the smoke, then back towards Hazel. They were just getting lost. This didn’t make any sense. How had they stumbled this far out, not knowing where the hell they were? His body moved forward without his command, pushing him back. He needed to ask Hazel, needed some sort of confirmation that he wasn’t the only one losing his mind.

 

Chris stopped abruptly, the world moving on without him, almost tipping him over. Bending and swaying; like vertigo. He glanced around the empty opening, that same rock sitting where it was, but no Hazel. His head snapped to and fro, taking in every inch of scenery he could, stepping slowly towards the rock. On one side, tipped over, contents spilled out, was Hazel’s bag, the only remnants of his presence. With a pained gasp, Chris knelt down, collecting the things, shutting the bag, and throwing it over his shoulder. Nothing was wrong. He stood tall, dragging the bag across his chest. Each sound around him seemed too loud, but maybe it was him focusing.

 

He had to find Hazel, he couldn’t have gotten far. Something wasn’t right… With a ragged breath, he glanced around one last time, scanning the trees thoroughly before picking a direction and walking.

‘ _Don’t panic. He’s around here somewhere.”_


	6. Blood // Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I re-wrote everything... Not sure if it makes sense.. not a single clue... have a great time. :)

** Chris **

 

He hiked back down the way they had come, taking moments to glance around himself and shout out his cousins name every chance he could. It felt like hours had passed before he saw Hazel again, although it could have only been minutes - Chris was becoming so disoriented that he had to pause multiple times to catch his balance before moving forward.

 

"Hazel?" Not too loud, but loud enough that Hazel raised a shoulder in answer. Something was wrong. There should have been no reason for him to wander this far down without Chris, to be almost hiding in the trees. His cousins blonde hair shone through the green of the trees. He was crouched low, hand wrapped around a branch. When Chris got close enough, Hazel dragged him down to his level.

 

Chris opened his mouth to talk, a finger pressing to his lips with a little more force than necessary.  

"Hear that?" He raised his brows, looking around them in mock search. Hazel ignored the look and pointed towards the forest. It was so quiet, Chris had to lean in. The forest sounded like a forest… trees fluttering in the wind, birds crowing at one another, a howl off in the distance, the sounds of leaves crunching… voices. They were clear, enunciating words crisply, no drawl or Montana accent. He glanced at Hazel who was already taking a step outside of his hiding spot.

 

"Hazel!" It was rough, panicky, yet still quiet. Why the hell Hazel thought it would be a good idea to sneak up on people hiking was beyond Chris, but he would put a stop to it. He followed after, both of them still low to the ground - he couldn't see the people walking, only hearing the crunch of their feet over uneven ground, and their voices.

 

"-said to wait. But Jacob wants to move forward."

"They should have consulted John." One of the men scoffed, and Chris finally saw why Hazel was so set on following the two hikers. They were dressed in what looked like military grade gear, ski masks covering their faces, and what looked to be AR-C's strapped to their backs. A long red shirt underneath a long camo vest? Their boots were definitely military boots, that off sand brown, caked in mud but still easily recognizable.

' _Montana…'_

"Hazel, we are in Montana. Everyone has a gun-."

"A gun that big for hiking?" The response was close to a growl, low and placed right at the back of his throat. A show of dominance that Chris had never seen in the other man before. He leveled a glare, not backing down until Hazel slide closer, "You can't think this is normal. Why the fuck," his voice raised momentarily before he settled it back into his angry whispering, "would they have masks and AK's for a forest known for its deer?"

 

Chris was going to rebuttal, stating the guns weren't AK's, but he felt a little stupid at that being the key fact he was harping on. His cousin had a somewhat reasonable point, although many of the locals could stamp the idea out if they were here to inject. Instead Chris clamped his mouth shut and simply shrugged.

 

"Why the hell would they consult John? He doesn’t get into this side of the issues." They both glanced back at the men, Chris stepping forward to crouch over Hazel's back. As the men walked across the forest floor, the pair of cousins followed behind quickly. One of the masked men went to grab his gun, shifting the strap until he got a hold of the muzzle.

 

"Well," the man paused, pulling up his mask to breathe in, "I keep hearing John's followers complaining." The other man scoffed, scanning around them with his gun up. "Complaining about what? How easy it is to live with Herald John?" The mocking tone he used didn't make the other man laugh, his shoulders hiking up to an uncomfortable placement.

Chris could feel Hazel mimicking the movement, tense when the sight of the gun pointed at them. They could easily be spotted, they SHOULD have been spotted but the man passed right over them.

 

"Next time they complain, remind them of the smell from the cages."

"Like they would even begin to understand it."

 

One of the men spat, wiping his face with a red sleeve.

"It would be so much easier if they would kill them."

"The Father wouldn’t like that." They moved forward after that, the man slinging his gun over his shoulder, their conversation coming to an end, as the moved seamlessly together through the trees. Chris lurched forward slightly to follow behind but Hazel stayed put. In that instance, something akin to fear finally settled in his stomach.

 

Whatever, WHOEVER, Jacob and John were, they had men casually discussing the lives of others. It could have been nothing, simply Chris and Hazel reading in between the lines too much, but "killing them would be easier," seemed open to worried filled interpretation.

 

The silence dwelled until Hazel stood slowly; Chris watched him rise, following behind when he walked away. There had to be similar thoughts between the two of them - but then, Hazel had been the one that suggested following the men. Thinking back on their life together, Hazel had never been paranoid, granted that had been almost a decade of time a part.

 

His footsteps were calm, collected, then more rushed once their distance between the men had grown exponentially. Chris tried to follow behind faithfully, finding it a little more difficult to cross uneven ground with heavy bags weighted on him.

 

"Hazel." When there wasn't a response, he tried a little louder, the older man freezing immediately. His eyes looked empty when he stared back at Chris. There were no words exchanged between them when Hazel walked back towards Chris, snatching his bag and walking back down the mountain. He almost shouted at him, wanted to be angry that Hazel was backing out of this now. It wouldn’t get them anywhere, it wasn't their business, he could ignore it. Instead he followed behind, the slow pace easy to mimic, a numb ache filling his chest.

 

***

 

The farther down the mountain they went, the more silence followed behind them. Everything just seemed too quiet. And maybe it was just Chris, overthinking, worrying, still buzzed on an adrenaline high from their previous encounter with those men… but the hum and buzz of the forest, the hundreds of birds he had heard previously, the howls and roars of wolves and bears, and even the buzz of crickets and bees, had all collectively stopped. Like they were set on a timer and right now was the perfect opportunity to cease their voices.

 

Hazel didn’t seem to notice, or he just ignored it, walking ahead of Chris at that same straight-backed pace he had walked the whole way down. He paused, breathing in sharply through his nose, holding it. He was panicking - could feel the tremble of his chest, the weight of something dragging him under. There was no reason, nothing was happening. Hazel paused, looking back with a squinty glare. Anger seemed to overtake his features. Not his face. Someone else’s.

 

It felt too nauseatingly familiar. Like instead of forest surrounding him, dark dirt underneath his boots, there was sand - oceans of it, piled high. The heat of the sun bathing him, his squad; he was sweating. It dripped down his back, off his face, he could hear the muffled conversation behind him. Too sharp of an inhale made him gasp, panic drowning out his coherency. Hazel kept moving, ignoring Chris’ cries for help, ignoring his outstretched hand. Laughs, mumbled words, grew louder, LOUDER-. He squeezed his eyes shut, covering his ears. Shaking his head only made the world hazier.

 

_‘No,’_ he wasn’t there anymore, it had been years, TWO years! He had made it home, celebrated - even when his team hadn’t made it. ‘No, no, NO!’ the crunch of sand was loud as people passed him, their shoulders barely skimming his.

When he opened his eyes he had to wipe the image of sand out of his sight. Again, rubbing harder when there was only sand. Hard enough it spotted his vision; sand was around him, the heat choking him. It had to be a dream, there was no way this was real. Too tired, he hadn’t slept very well, hadn’t dreamt. He was nervous from the men, followers to Jacob and John and some man called the Father. It wasn’t real, he was tired, or sick.

 

“Hazel!” the group of men, Hazel, stopped to glance back at him, ignoring the broken sobs. Begs or something close to them dripped off his tongue, but they didn’t sound right, didn’t process right.

 

The ground stumbled below him, jolting, trembling, moving along without him. His squad moved forward just like Hazel had been, was doing, one of them stayed facing Chris, his face blurred but Chris knew who it was, could make out his voice over the rushing sound of blood pounding in his ears. He grabbed at his hair, tugging, wanting to wake up.

 

“-is, you okay?” Chris looked up - the man had gotten closer, goggles propped on his forehead, eyes black, swirling, consuming. The panic bubbled into fear, a squeak leaving him as he tried to back away.

 

_‘Not real… this isn’t real.’_

 

“Stay back.” A hand touched him and suddenly Hazel was there, eyes wide, face close enough that each breath he took ghosted over Chris’ face. Chris shrunk against the tree he had backed himself into, pulling his knees into his chest, letting Hazel hold him slightly against his chest.

 

“You saw that too?” Hazel waited until Chris had calmed enough to ask him, meeting his eyes with just as much fear as he felt. “Saw?” Hazel almost responded, stopping when a gunshot sounded nearby. Too close. They were both up fast, making their way towards the sound, a few more shots knocking off as they crept closer to the hill they had just been walking around.

 

The hill was small, not taking a lot of force to walk up, both stopping just below the top. Hazel peeked over, Chris swiveling his head to watch the surrounding area, fingers slipping to his pocket to retrieve a gun that wasn’t there. He almost cursed, biting back the hiss of air. Why hadn’t he grabbed some sort of weapon? No he had a pocket knife.

 

Another shot, this one loud, reverberating, knocked his thought train off. Not high enough to be a rifle, but not deep enough to be a shotgun. It couldn’t have been as close as they had thought, possibly a mile or two away - the possibility that they could avoid the guns was good, but Hazel was already crawling the rest of the way up, settling on top of the hill with his hand held back to signal wait.

 

Chris waited, either too scared or too nervous to move. The leaves underneath his boots crunched with each timid shift of his body. With the lack of sound, and calm of the moment, Chris took it as an opportunity to pull out his knife. It was still cased, the bright red handle the only thing visible. It’s metal clip, usually used to snag on articles of clothing, was bent at an odd angle. Probably damaged sometime while it was in the bag. With little to no force, he twisted the metal and clipped it to the breast pocket of his flannel. Easy access… He inhaled, following after Hazel, crouching low to mimic the quiet his cousin had approached with.   

 

Conversations drifted up to them; loud orders, followed by jagged movements, shouts from somewhere neither of them could see, questions, and laughed answers. That stomach churning anxiety running rampant, Chris wrapping his hand around Hazel’s wrist. The older man reacted violently, tugging himself away, body turning to face Chris. His eyes were wide, pupils blown out - fear and worry edged along the outside of his face and he was mouthing something, lips moving in time with the thudding in Chris’ chest. He couldn’t hear him.

 

That same anger bubbled over, Hazel lashing out at Chris, fingers catching on his flannel to drag him closer. A ghost of warm air brushed his cheek, “Phone!,” and a finger jabbed in his side before Hazel returned to his perch. Confused, he looked down, seeing the top of his phone peeking out of his jean pocket.

 

It was off. Or more importantly, it was dying. Hazel looked back, so much anger, creased in his face. Not his Hazel. His Hazel wouldn't have been this mad over a phone, or a simple touch. The impatience could have been justified by the situation, Chris would have been impatient as well, but the way his eyes had darted to Chris’ throat like he was seconds away from lunging at it, left the unsettling feeling that something was even more wrong than they thought. Even as he handed over his phone, watched his cousin power on the device (with a bit of difficulty), he couldn’t get the idea out of his head.

 

“Move this!” His eyes found their way back to the building. Twenty, or so, people were milling about, each one owned a different gun from the other, either in their hands or strapped to their backs. Again, the gun situation didn’t bother Chris, but what did was the fact that some of the people wore long-sleeved red shirts underneath camo vests… Hazel seemed to be thinking the same thing, catching his eyes with a grim expression.

 

“Militia?” Chris could barely hear the question, the panic and fear making the others voice small. He shook his head once, then shrugged, “I-I… no. I don’t know.”

Neither made a move down the hill, Hazel bringing the phone down when he realized it was dead, but his eyes still bore into the screen. Chris watched him search for something not there, before turning to look back into the camp. Chris tried to follow his gaze, flicking his eyes back to see if he could catch his eye. No such luck, but he did catch the confusion and staggering realization stutter across his features. He raised his hand, looking back to Chris for a second before following his own figure back into the wall. Chris followed it obediently, eyes landing on one of the other men. He, just like many of the other men and women wandering around, wore dingy, off-white, outfits with a large, black insignia on the front.

 

He could feel his face scrunch up, eyebrows twitching together because they had seen it. “The pamphlet.” He heard himself mutter, Hazel humming in response. “Well it’s our God damn luck to stumble across a God damn cult.” the huff he let out felt like a laugh, sounded like one if Chris didn’t register the anger behind it too much. He was scared, even more scared than he hoped he let on. So wound up, muscles taught in preparation for a fight that wasn’t being started. Not yet.

 

“We need to get back to the car.”

 

“To what?” Chris could feel the glare on the side of his face, “Tell the local cops!?” Another garbled hiss, spit flying from Hazel’s mouth. Chris glared back, the anger he felt bubbling over. Why this nonsensical arguing? Why now? Chris went along with Hazel’s dumb idea early - following two masked men with guns, yet running back to the car to get the hell out of dodge, before the going got going, was too much to ask?

“To do fucking something! Get away-.” Something whizzed past his face, right between them, startling them both away from each other, Chris sprawling back into the dirt. He managed to sit up, enough to look over the top some, then down to Hazel who was staring back starry eyed. They needed to move.

 

Unintelligible shouts and more shots were fired in their direction. Threats, orders, things that were too garbled by blood rushing in his ears to hear. Chris didn’t wait to find out what was going to happen - he grabbed hold of Hazel and dragged him down the small hill and into the trees. They followed the path, both grunting from exertion, Chris at one point having to drag Hazel along to keep him in pace with him.

A bullet, _‘Holy fuck we’re being shot at!’,_ flew past his arm, close enough he felt the air off it. It hit a tree, bark flying into Chris’ face. He only had a second to react, covering his face as the tree on his other side was hit as well.

 

Hazel screamed, his hand ripping out of Chris’ the sound of him hitting the ground drowned out by the shouts of the men. Chris whirled around, kicking up dirt and loose rocks as he stopped, immediately dropping low to help Hazel up. He was face first in the dirt, groaning out something Chris couldn’t hear, couldn’t understand. The world was getting fuzzy again, tipping and swaying, moving without him. He cursed, grinding his teeth as he tried to reach forward, pick Hazel up. When trying to tug him up didn’t work, Chris rolled him onto his back, catching his arms into the crooks of his elbows, standing to pull when he noticed blood. A lot of blood.

 

“Chris?” the pool of it grew underneath Hazel’s shirt, his voice weak, pained. His eyes darted across Chris’ features, looking for something, a small smile on his lips, teeth red from the blood dripping out of his nose. He had been shot. “Fuck!” Chris clambered around the dead weight of his cousin, pressing into his stomach to stifle the blood oozing out. It was hot, the blood, Hazel’s skin, the air around them. “FUCK!” The shout gained more attention, and when Chris looked up, he could see the men fully. They couldn’t get away.

 

“Chris.” Fingers wound around his wrist, tugging his hand away from the bullet hole. He glanced down, eyes wide when Hazel was gone, a face he recognized lying beneath him, blood pooled around his head, eyes empty. A name he hadn’t spoken for years echoed through his head, a sharp pain in his shoulder blurring his vision until he saw Hazel again. His eyes closed, body limp in Chris’ arms.

 

Everything was too bright, too loud, sparkles edging his vision. The men swarmed around them, their footsteps loud, out of sync, guns raised high, ignoring Chris’ raised hands, ignoring his sobs, his pleas for help. What the fuck was happening? Why was this happening? He was scared, so scared that he was going to die. He had made it through the war, made it through rehab, but he was going to die here, in the middle of the woods without saying goodbye to anyone, without having said “I love you,” to anyone. Another sobs tore through his chest. Chris pressed his head into Hazel’s chest, closing his eyes and let the heaviness on his eyelids close them. It was going to be ok.


	7. The Hunter

** Hazel**

 

The darkness was never ending. A wave crashing over his head and dragging him under every time he glimpsed at the surface. Filling in every hole Hazel tried to imagine into existence - a door, a window, a way out from the quelling anxiety of pain and disembodiment. Nothing was solid, a liquid darkness, shifting and swaying, shimmering dimly around the edge. He was swaying, moving, walking, though none of it was under his command. Each torque of his stomach, breathing in and out, muscles contracting with the movements, a stabbing pain lanced through his side, swelling and aching. It shot down his arms, curling his fingers.

 

What the hell had happened? Why did it hurt? He wanted, NEEDED, to wake up. Needed to understand what was going on around him, get the pain to stop, but all he could do was lie there, motionless, drowning in nothing. But lie where? With complete concentration, he focused on trying to wiggle his fingers. Nerves shot to hell, immediately tingling with sleepiness, pins and needles up his wrist. It took some time, some flexes of his fingers, before the feeling left entirely. They were stiff, tight, days without use made it tough to jab around and dig into the surface he was on. The material was soft, gliding between his fingers, something catching on the dry patches of skin. When he dug down, the surface was pliant, but springy, resistant against the intrusion. A bed… there was his what, but where was he? And why? How long had he been asleep?

 

He slowly began remembering what happened. Although it all came back in bits and pieces, as the hours (or what he assumed were hours,) wasted away - the men in ugly off white outfits, with big guns, big voices, big attitudes. Their chase into the woods, the flash of pain, and Chris’ voice as he hit the ground.

 

The pain in his back came close to nothing when Hazel had hit the forest floor. Only two thoughts had gone through his head at that point, “Oh shit, I tripped,” and “I broke my fucking nose.” Neither one accounting for the possible bullet hole in his side, or the group of men that had shouted “Sinners,” at their backs; none too worried. Clearly someone… a lot of someone’s, cared enough about him that they took him to a hospital, or were taking care of him.

 

Whoever those someone's were, came in and out of the room

Their conversations were soft, whispered; words spoken through cotton. At one point, there had been no talking at all, everything being nothing. That was when Hazel thought he had died, perished from the bullet wound, or from something before this whole encounter and now he was just living through what he wanted (?) to happen. Though none of this was ideal, he had still found his time with Chris had been unbelievably wonderful. So maybe this was his own special hell, or purgatory. And honestly, all it was missing was some hot men. But no, Hazel wasn’t dead. There HAD to be a way that you knew you were dead, and honestly he would be a hell of a lot happier if he had died, not mildly depressed with a throbbing headache behind his eyes..

 

“He wants to keep them here?” Off to his left, something metal clattered together.

“Yes, we will see if the new conditioning technique they wish to use will work on different types of people.”

 

_‘Conditioning_? He wanted to ask what they meant, if the conditioning was similar to the one he knew of, or if this was something completely different. One of the people, a woman, sighed, Hazel could almost hear her roll her eyes.

“Jacob wants to make more of the faithful?”

 

There it was again… that name. Jacob. Clearly these people and the ones they had seen in the forest were in cahoots. But for what reason?

“More likely more Chosen, but I don't know… He doesn’t share a whole lot with me, Ida.” The woman made another soft noise, and Hazel had decided that the softer footsteps meandering around the room were hers. She moved off deeper to the left, clattered something around, then came back in.

 

Something cold pressed into Hazel’s side, his skin jumping. It took everything in him not to shout out, to alert them. Neither seemed to notice, and the woman, Ida, continued to wipe at a small spot of skin on Hazel’s stomach. The material stung, ached - it was painful. With each soft pat, or rub, Hazel grit his teeth harder together, curling his toes and pinching the mattress enough to keep some sort of control on the pain.

 

“Honestly, could have fooled me, Wes.” One pat sent a shot of pain through Hazel, enough that it had him grabbing at Ida’s hand, and opening his eyes to stare at them. They were both dressed in the awful mayonnaise white outfits. Their eyes were wide, shocked, confused… Ida, was not far off from what Hazel had imagined. Buzzed hair, sharp features, dark eyes - “Wes,” looked like a mountain man. Like Tom Hanks from Cast Away after he had been on the island for a long time. Long dark brown beard, and a mane of dark hair to match. They were both staring wide eyed at him, Wes even had his mouth open to talk, but Hazel wasn’t having it. He was in too much pain, and too confused to care.

 

“I don’t give a flying fuck about what he tells you, that fucking hurts. Enough.” At the last word, he shoved Ida’s hand away, flopping his head back onto the most uncomfortable pillow he had the misfortune of resting his head on. When he couldn’t find a comfortable space to lie deeper into, he wiggled up the mattress, skillfully, (albeit painfully) placing the pillow behind his back so he could sit up.

 

Without the help of underwhelming unconsciousness, every ache and pain his mind had ignored came flaring back.

 

The groan that left him was a mix between a whine and a hum, and he was almost certain the noise stirred the two back into life. Hazel watched their faces flick between several emotions, glancing between one another and Hazel, before Ida turned on her heels and walked towards the door of the room. When the door clicked shut behind her, Wes, in all his mountain man glory, stepped closer, laying the back of his hand on Hazel’s forehead.

 

Hazel held his breath, worried the other man would smell like sewage or something more humanly disgusting, but when he had to draw in a breath, all he could smell was pine. Not a bad smell, and it definitely suited the man.   

 

“Lie still.”

“I’m as still as I can be.”

 

A huff of laughter was his response as the man checked over everything he could on Hazel, even to the point of jotting down some numbers when he checked his pulse. It wasn’t until he started fiddling with tubes and wires off to Hazel’s right, that he realized he was actively connected to an IV drip. He followed the tube from the IV bag, down to his arm, using his left hand to fiddle with the tape.

 

“What the fuck is in there?” The liquid wasn’t clear, or maybe it was the bag itself, but it looked… green. Tainted, disgusting. Hazel had never liked the doctor’s, never liked going, or being seen, hated being put under… so maybe it was just him being misinformed, or not having enough knowledge on the situation to be able to understand. But it was still unnerving.

 

“Well,” the man sat close to Hazel’s arm, the bed dipping under his weight, “it was medicine to numb the pain for you, but it seems your body didn’t take it very well.” His fingers were gentle for how rough they looked, pressing the tape that Hazel had managed to peel away, back onto his skin. They caught each other's eye, staring evenly at one another for what felt like minutes. With a sigh, Wes went back to fidgeting with the tube.

 

“You shouldn’t even be awake right now, but here we are.” Hazel made a face, opening his mouth to question Wes. Why shouldn’t he be awake? He supposed they (whoever he could bundle together with Wes to call “They”) had been the one to hurt him in the first place. For all he knew, Ida had run off to go call the cops about the two idiots that got hurt on their property, and how one of them was awake, and take them both to jail because their “Herald” was offended that they stepped on “Holy Ground.” Hazel wouldn’t know, and he didn't understand.

 

The remainder of their time was filled with silence, Wes keeping to himself. If Hazel wasn’t so awkward, he might have said something, but nothing came to mind that would make easy conversation. Plus, Wes was a hard man to read, his face completely passive. Maybe he wasn't supposed to talk, like when pleading silent after being arrested. Still there was a sort of brotherly kindness that wafted off him, even when he was dead in the face. Maybe it as the warmth in his brown eyes, or the softness of his touches… Hazel felt ok.

 

Well, felt ok, until Wes' entire face shut down when the door re-opened, settling a pool of worry in Hazel’s chest. Ida walked in first, having a quiet conversation with a tall red-head, who followed in after, his arms crossed over his chest. His presence seemed to reawaken Wes, the man moving quickly up and away from the bed 

 

The man seemed to fill Hazel's view, towering above everyone - leisurely he stepped into the spot Wes vacated, watching Ida as she moved to clear the mess she had made earlier… Hazel watched her too, felt too intimidated to stare at the new visitor. Ida, once she was done with her cleaning, looked to the man; she got a confirming grunt and quickly walked towards the door. Without anything else to look at, Hazel darted his gaze to Wes, (who really liked the floor) then to the man. Piercing blue eyes watched him, focused on his face. He should have acted intimidated, (the man dripping authority and intimidation) dipped his head, been any semblance of the word behaved, but he found himself feeling more rebellious than usual.

 

Once the man checked over the writing Wes did, rechecked things, like temperature, and pulse, (which was awful because Hazel couldn’t seem to get himself under control when rough, scarred fingers pressed to his wrist.) he waved the two out and pulled up a chair, sitting on it with a huff. Hazel fought the urge to comment, eyeing the expansive space between the man’s knees.

 

Before the door closed, Wes walked back to the man, handing him a steaming cup of something. The scent that wafted towards Hazel, made him hum. Coffee. Not good coffee, like the expensive stuff he would look at longingly, but rather the kind you could buy at a mini-mart out on a freeway. Even then it smelled nostalgic, homey, comforting - yet in the hands of this man, it turned into something different. A tool, a weapon against Hazel's human side.

 

“Nice jacket.” He tried not to croak, wanted to clear his throat but feared the noise would be too loud for the room. The jacket looked militant, uniform. Given to him from the Army. ( _"Not the military."_  He could hear Chris snapping at him.) The man's entire outfit looked like fatigues - either a stylistic choice, or Hazel had called the militia aspect of this group. The Vet center suddenly came to mind, that brick sign bubbling up in his memories.

 

The man took a sip, ignoring the comment, setting the cup down on the floor. He seemed to be assessing Hazel, watching the movements with a flick of his eyes, hands clasped together in between his legs. It reminded Hazel of his teacher’s in high school, waiting for him to confess about who graffitied the girl’s bathroom during lunch break. Silently waiting, starving out the comfort of conversation until he broke and told them what he knew. It reminded him of his own hell, of the cabin in the woods, with an overabundance of windows and doors, but there was no escape. Long hours of this exact feeling in his chest.

He had to take in a deep breath, steady it enough to remove the slight waver and panted gasps he let out.

 

“Why are you here?” The man’s voice was deeper than Hazel had expected, rough, like he had just woken up, but the bags under his eyes would say otherwise. The question felt off kilter, like he was trying to pin him with something he would know the answer to, as if he… they…. Had been planning on coming to this area of the woods for a negative reason.

 

“Here? In the mountains?” He had to clear his throat, the jump in his shoulders not going unnoticed.

“In the Whitetails.” Bland response. Monotone. Suited a deep voice.

 

He opened his mouth, closed it, watching the unmoving hulk of the man as he tried to process his own response. This definitely was something the man hadn’t expected. Although why wouldn't he be expecting people to be wandering in these woods. They're state property - anyone could be walking through the paths, and this man couldn’t legally be angry or annoyed by it. Just telling the truth would be easy, Chris and Hazel had been hiking, looking for a specific waterfall when they stumbled across that barrel, although Chris didn’t really seem to comment on it… it reeked like dead flowers, and that was when Chris had left… just wandered off, not saying anything, not acknowledging whatever the barrel had housed.

 

Again he opened his mouth, then closed it. He could ask his own questions, because he had quite a few that he wanted to get off his chest, but the feeling he got from that pointed stare said he wouldn’t be getting answers anytime soon. He wanted to know what the barrel was, why he had some sort of hallucination, why those men seemed so adamant on hurting them.

 

“Hiking… We… were hiking.” Hazel fiddled with his fingers, looking down at his lap, scrunching his face up at his own words. The IV tube restricting the movements in his hand. It didn’t hurt, the needle placed in very well, but anything that was under Hazel’s skin, hooked somewhere in his body, felt… disgusting. With each twist or bend of his fingers, he could feel the needle shift.

 

“Just hiking? Hmm?”

“That’s what I said.” He snapped back, looking up to catch the glint in the other man’s eye. A short exhale of a laugh, (if Hazel could call it that) was all he got in response before the man stood, towering over Hazel, and this man had to be almost 7 feet, the way he looked too big to fit in the room. Hazel watched as he crossed the room, stepping close to one of the lockers, and when he pulled out Chris’ bag, he sat up a little taller in the bed. His own bag followed out, before the man moved back to the chair and sat down, both bags in tow. It wasn’t until he started rummaging through the pockets and pouches of the bag, that Hazel commented, reaching out his hands to do something.

 

“H-hey! You can’t just go through our stuff! That’s-.” A pointed stare had him receding back into the pillow, clasping his hands in his lap, complaint bubbling into a hum. The man continued, pulling out notebooks, and junk items, tossing them to the side, until he found something he liked.  The car keys… he hung them on his index finger, inspecting them, whilst knocking the cross with his thumb. He set them on the table carefully, going back to the bags. Clear items of interest, Chris phone, Hazel's knife and satellite radio, both compasses the men had had, were set farther back on the table. 

 

The moment the man stumbled across their wallets, he turned his full attention on Hazel, flipping both open to inspect something, glancing between Hazel’s bright blue wallet, and him. He watched confusion blossom, followed by a dry huff of laughter.

 

“You’re not Chris, no… he’s the one in the other room.” The chair was shifted closer to the bed, the man humming something Hazel could somewhat recognize - his eyes darting from the wallet to Hazel’s face, trying to map out details he couldn’t quite understand. Hazel smiled, could feel the manic stretch of his lips, when the man asked, “Who the hell is Anabele?” The man flicked his eyes to Hazel, shifting back into his chair, his knees set even farther apart now,

 

“See… I knew you two were thieves, stealing someone’s car, and now you steal some girl’s wallet… I pegged you as a little smarter.” Hazel shrugged.

“Depends on who you ask. Funny enough... “ He shifted upward enough, ignoring the searing pain in his side to cross his legs underneath him, “the car is our uncle’s, and the wallets mine.” That confusion was back, the man wiping his face, and tugging at his beard as he thought.

 

“Haven’t gone by Anabele for about as long as I haven’t lived in my parents' house, Mr.… I actually don’t think I caught your name?” Another huff, could have been a cough -- the man stood again, kicking the now empty bags across the floor, and started messing with the IV bag - he grabbed a needle, off the table, inspecting it, twisting it around and watching the liquid shift.

“I didn’t tell you. But, you will learn it soon enough. For right now, you can call me Sir.” Hazel squinted at him, wanting to hiss back something passive aggressive, sarcastic, ease the tension in his shoulders, especially when the man pressed a hand into it.

 

The needle was in his arm before he could fully react. It stung, not given methodically, just spitefully. He tried to thrash away, but the solid grip on him was too tough to break free from. Whatever it was, made him feel heavy, made his heartbeat thrum loudly in his ears, head lolling back. It was so immediate, so alarming, he fell into the man, his arms surrounding all of him; so warm and soft. A blanket… he heard himself hum, felt the slight rumble of the man’s voice as he talked about something.

 

Wes was near him again, and Oh, he had been talking to him. He hummed again, letting the heaviness of his eyelids weigh them closed. There was a single moment he felt like he was floating on air, before the warmth of the sun was gone, and all he was left with was a cold sense of dread. Like a weight in his stomach; bindings were placed around his wrists and ankles, and he knew everything was truly wrong.


	8. Put Your Head On My Shoulder

 

** Chris**

 

Hazel wasn't with him when he finally woke up. Even if he had been, there wouldn't have been anything that Chris could have done. He struggled again - tugging at his bound wrists. Even with the years of training on hostage situations, what to do, how to avoid them, and how to get out of them alive, Chris still found himself wound up, gnawing at the fabric secured in his mouth.

 

The room was too dark, a small stream of light trickling in through what looked like a window, Chris was unable to make out many defining features. It was stuffy, most likely purposefully done, add to the heaviness and lack of airflow. Chris had found it easier to suck in air through his mouth in small portions, avoiding the smell in the room as much as he could. He didn’t really want to vomit with a gag shoved down his throat. He’d heard of men in training scenarios drowning in their own stomach acid because of that. He shuddered, involuntarily inhaling through his nose. The sharp scent of blood overwhelmed him, followed by a wave of decay  - there had to be a dead body trapped in the room with him. For a heart stopping moment, he wondered if it was Hazel, but it couldn’t have been.

 

It had only been around two days since they had been brought to wherever this place was, Hazel had been breathing when Chris last saw him, albeit shallowly from pain, but he was still alive. Natural composition took at least four days to enact the stench that seemed stagnant in the room. It made his hair stand on end. He had to get out. With a resolute grunt, Chris worked his feet on the ground, (noting the way the rope dug into his legs - they really wanted him to stay in this chair.) pointing his toes out enough to angle the chair back. His eyes adjusted enough that he could make out shapes on his right. It looked like another chair; behind him was a small squat stand, something like a projector perched on top.

 

The legs of the chair cracked loudly against the cement flooring - Chris pressed his teeth into his gag, waiting patiently, unmoving, for someone to enter, to find him awake and do something to halt what little progress he had made. After five minutes of silence, Chris counting out the seconds behind his closed eyelids, he twisted his wrists again. He listened to the tension, before tugging harder, ignoring the stabs of pain where the rope scored his skin. The rope was heavy duty, meant for bindings in boats, not capture - clearly someone had grabbed whatever they could to secure Chris, avoiding all other thoughts.

 

Not very practical… maybe whoever had found them, tied him up, wasn’t military. Could be a lead and follow scenario. Someone in this situation indeed knew ways to debilitate someone for intimidation reasons… not very successful for someone with training, but others might be susceptible. As that thought filtered through his brain, Hazel popped into mind, sending Chris into a mildly self-induced panic attack. Hazel wouldn’t be able to withstand this sort of torture, even if it was mild in comparison to other things, he was still never briefed or walked through self-preservation. There wasn’t anything he would be giving away, no secret to withhold from their captors, so there would be no consequences… possibly. It took him a minute, slow breathing, imagining something pleasant, a nice field trip with his niece and nephew to the park, that quelled his fear enough that he could regulate his breathing.

 

He huffed out a breath, gagging when the rag touched the back of his tongue. It tasted sweaty… He shuddered, not really happy to figure out where the rag had been.

Each time he heard something, the clack of shoes, a thump, or a conversation, he lowered his head, pretending to be asleep, evening out his breathing and trying to placate the thump of his heart. There had to be something he could use to get out of here - there had to be someone who was coming to check on him at some point to make sure he wasn’t dead… or maybe not…

 

It had to have been a full hour of Chris sitting in his own sweat, boiling in the room, before someone opened the door. He had been slowly drifting in between being fully awake and partially asleep, that he didn’t even hear them approaching.

 

At first he stiffened, blinking through the bright hall lights as three people entered the room, before he slumped forward to mimic sleeping. No one seemed to notice, or cared enough to comment on him, instead busying themselves with placing a lifeless body in the chair sat directly to Chris’ right. With slowly adjusting eyes, he could make out the details of the people, jutting his chin into his chest, and slightly tilting his head, gave him view of the two men that had walked in. They were both wearing white fatigues, red ski masks covering their faces. It had to be hot for them, hulking around a body, while wearing all those layers.

 

Nothing seemed to bother them as they finished strapping the wrists and ankles of the body to the chair, ignoring the small noises. Each move they made seemed planned, neither one leaving enough space for Chris to see the other person, rotating in time with one another.

 

“Wha?” The body raised its head, as they moved to leave the room, and Chris realized why they had been blocking him. Hazel stared at the wall, looking dazed, eyes so clearly unfocused; he groaned, dropping his head to his chest. He looked exhausted, pale, but he was alive.

 

Just as soon as Chris had seen him, Hazel was blocked from his view, this time by the projector and it’s table that he had seen earlier. Without realizing, he had raised his head, looking around rapidly, watching the two men leave the room, leaving Hazel and Chris alone. No… not alone. Chris tried to glance over his shoulder, subtly, maybe catch the other person in the room while they had their back to them. The room was much brighter now, the overhead bulb, buzzing loudly.

 

“So you were military?” The woman’s voice startled him, he hadn’t even noticed her standing beside him, hip perched right on the edge of his chair. She was dressed exactly like the men, the only difference, her mask was caught in the crook of her arm; Chris glanced up at her, eyes tracing the still healing tattoo on her forehead. An insignia… the key chain cross… Chris tried to talk, hitting his gag reflex once again. He had forgotten again that it was there. The woman smiled, unlacing the gag on the back of his head, letting him spit it out.

 

“Where…” a deep breath in, “Where am I?” His voice was soft, unused - he tugged at his bindings. The woman smiled, standing up to check and adjust the projector further forward. His feeble attempts at escaping were ignored, the woman inspecting her watch once she re-perched on his chair; he wouldn’t get out.

 

“All in due time, Chris,” she stepped in front of him, folding her arms over her chest, “Is your name short for Christopher? Christian?” Chris flinched away, throwing his head towards Hazel, pulling himself up to try and glance over the projector. He dropped back onto the chair, unclenching his fists to ease the pain swelling around the binds.

How the hell did they know him? Know his name? Even if he had given away his name, he would have never given his first name... But he had his wallet on him, when they came up the mountain; ‘“Always a good idea, just in case we run into some rangers or cops.”’ Hazel had said, made situations with them end quicker, and it was more of a courtesy thing to do for them. Maybe that was how they got his name.

 

“Chris?” The softest voice stopped him from responding, his ears straining to hear the rest of the words Hazel was mumbling out.   

 

“Hazel?-” He watched the woman walk towards Hazel, “Is he okay?” A sound like rustling wires was his response, followed by the projector clicking on. With a small hush, and a pat to his head, the woman left the room. Chris waited… listened for someone else to come in, only letting seconds pass before he was shuffling the chair around, dragging it closer to Hazel - the scrap was loud, grating on his ears, every nerve in his body begging him to stop, but he needed to check.

 

It took him a few tries to scrape past the projector, chair catching on the wiring laid out behind the device. “Hazel.” His voice was scratchy, too loud for how lightly he tried to breathe out the name. No response, just the buzz of the light, and the static of the projector.

 

“Hazel!” A little louder, his voice broke, fear bubbling up. There was a soft groan, Hazel lifting his head, looking at the wall in front of him, head swiveling slowly to try and find Chris. The angle of his chair and the way he was strapped down gave him limited mobility. There was no way they would see one another; the only thing he could do was give him instructions - “Hazel. Listen close, ok?” He waited for the soft hum Hazel gave as response. Clearly something was wrong, possibly drugs, or a steady weakness from the bullet wound, either way, Hazel wasn’t entirely coherent.

 

“If they start interrogating you, just tell them what they want.” he paused letting those words settle in, sliding his chair forward a little more. Outside the doorway, he could hear footsteps, their voices just loud enough to start a cold sweat beading down his back. Hazel hadn’t responded, his head had lolled back into his chest, “please Hazel, promise me.” A hushed whisper, Hazel cocked his head back, Chris could just make out the green of his eye as he tipped his head to look at the open door, at the people walking in.

 

“Hazel!”

 

“Who took the gag out?” The two men that walked in made quick of the short distance between the door and Chris, both grabbing the wooden arms of the chairs and dragging him back. When he tried to call out for Hazel again, they gagged him with a sweet smelling rag, shoving it deep into his throat. He thrashed, pushing his chest up, digging his fingernails into the arm rests. The men started adjusting the projector, playing music, a soft tune that was indistinguishable, sounded like too many other ones that he couldn’t give the song a name. The lights dimmed, a bright surge of light poured from the projector.

 

The song felt strange, leaving Chris with a splitting headache as soon as the chorus hit, his vision tinged, like he was looking through a kaleidoscope. His eyes were blurry, tears welling; it scared him. He didn't know what was happening, why it was happening, why it scared him. He screamed, begged, feeling something heavy press into his shoulders, like hands but impossibly cold, moving up to circle his neck, pointing his face towards the wall. Pictures appeared, the white from the images blinding, Chris squinted, trying to close his eyes, only for the pressure on his skull to increase. He could hear screaming, wished to God it wasn’t Hazel going through this. He knew he was screaming, his throat already raw.

 

Red, red, red, tinged around the edges, each coherent thought was drowning in the red. A hammer smashing into his skull, unrelenting; there was talking - soft and comforting, barely audible above the song getting loud, LOUDER. He twitched his head, hearing his own bones snap with each violent jerk, or maybe it was the wood of the chair.

 

“The world is weak,” the voice was all around him, a blanket. Finally his eyes slipped shut, that cold feeling drifting back to his shoulders, massaging the tense muscles, “Soooooft.” It drawled out, the word dragging every ounce of restraint, resistance, out of his body. He slumped deeper into the chair, finally hearing Hazel responding, yelling at someone, not at him but at someone else.

 

“We must cull-” A loud clatter of wood on the concrete.

 

“-ease! He’s a fucking kid! Stop!” It had to be about him. Hazel clearly wasn’t affected, wasn’t reacting the way Chris was to whatever was happening. The red was encasing everything, the darkness behind his eyes pulsing and swaying with the headache. The music finally discernable, his consciousness following the songs lilt and sway. Everything around him slowly faded, sounds bleeding away, Hazel’s voice wavering in and out, his shouts, pleas, melting into Paul Anka’s smooth tenor voice, his limbs feeling like hot butter against the chair.  

 

“Put your head on my shooooouldeeeeer~.”

 

***

                                                         **Hazel**

 

He managed to get half his body out of the chair, ankles still strapped to the chair, while one of his hands was untied; he was aiming to grab hold of Chris, or break anything close enough to him, before the two men in masks finally moved forward. One shoved him back into the chair, avoiding the feeble hits Hazel aimed at his head. The other tried to work the ropes back around his wrist. Hazel managed to land a solid hit into the man’s face, relishing in the loud crunch and immediate recoil it garnered him.

 

“Fuck!” The man holding him to the chair growled, pulling his fist back to swing and Hazel prepared for the hit, eyes screwed shut, only it never came. When his eyes reopened the big red headed man was standing in front of him. He didn’t know when he had come in, when he had moved close enough that Hazel could smell him. The man holding him had lowered his fist, keeping his eyes on the bigger man.

 

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you, pup?” Hazel snarled, snapping his teeth when the man moved closer, waving his men away, grabbing Hazel’s chin to jerk his gaze back to the wall where pictures cycled through. Wolves with ruby red teeth, deer gutted and bleeding out, prey and predator, in varying forms. He stared, and stared, listening to the soft whines Chris let out, biting the inside of his cheek to stifle his own cries. The man, “Sir” as he wanted Hazel to call him, sat and watched him the entire time, looking very displeased. He stood beside Hazel stock still, unmoving. It was… unnerving.

 

The song playing in the background slowly faded into the soft voice over, before cutting out completely. Each word the man in the recording uttered sounded forced, faux belief in the ideals posed. Hazel found himself wanting to spit the words back, the ones he got and could remember under the stress, but found himself just staying quiet. If he talked, they might start whatever this was over again, hurt Chris even more, when it was all just starting to end.

 

“Sir?” the man moved forward, keeping his eyes locked with Hazel’s, inspecting points of his face, looking for something, anything that might give him the answers he was looking for. Curious and annoyed. He hummed, folding his scarred arms over his chest. They looked like burn scars, ones that matched Hazel’s own… Hazel grimaced, an age old ache building in his chest. He found himself turning to stare at the images. Torn apart animals; he knew all too much about those. Every couple of days during his time up in the mountains, he would find little dead critters. Usually squirrels and rabbits, and on occasion running into torn apart deer. Protocol dictated that he dispose of the bodies, take them deeper into the woods, and leave them for other animals. Usually Hazel buried them.

 

It felt wrong leaving them exposed to the elements, and he had felt it was dumb to leave rotting bodies out. It would attract a multitude of other predators to his trails. And after Hazel’s run in with a rogue cougar, he hadn’t been too keen on the idea. The only straying detail that felt like a bit too much was the way Hazel made gravestones…

 

“Take this one to my office. Gotta figure out another way to break him,” Hazel startled at the hand tugging up his chin, meeting blue eyes, that calculated confusion from earlier was now smothered by a mask of indifference. “Keep training up for this one.” He pointed to Chris with his chin, eyes never leaving Hazel. Hazel growled low in his chest, watching the man walk towards the door, spitting curses at the guards that un-tied him, thrashing when they pulled him out of the chair and dragged him towards the door.

 

He kicked harder as they passed Chris, Hazel finally getting a good look at him.

 

“Chris? Chris!” If it wasn’t for the slight rise and fall of his chest, he would have looked dead. His face was pale, hair plastered to his face, sweat and grime caking his skin. He kicked out hard, connecting with one of the men, knocking him over enough that he could rip his arm out. With his free arm, he shoved the falling man completely over, ignoring the pained gasp to turn and face the other man. He had enough momentum in his turn to tug his other arm away, forcing his knee up and into his stomach. The man doubled over giving Hazel a split second to dive towards Chris.

 

He didn’t make it, knew he wasn’t going to, but he tried. The guards caught him, tugged him down. He reached up, tugging on Chris’ pants calling out his name one last time before one of the guards reared back his leg and kicked Hazel in the face. Immediately darkness consumed him.

 

***

 

(Find it.)

 

They had passed these trees before… Hazel paused momentarily eyeing them a couple more times, before moving forward. Chris didn’t comment on it, hadn’t been talking this whole time. There were some points during the journey that Chris had broken into random giggling fits, ignoring the panicked looks Hazel sent to him.

It was just him being an ass, trying to freak Hazel out again.

 

He looked down at his map, the words he had written looked foreign. Not his own writing. Who could have written it then? He swore he had done it. He flipped the map over, could see the key written out, details he was known to use, but someone else could have learned it, rewrote their map, wanted them to venture into the woods, get lost… he took a breath, lowering the map. He didn’t want to voice his discomfort, didn’t want to let Chris know that he wanted to go back to camp, pack up, and book it back to the car.

 

(Then go back.)

 

Everything around them was quiet, the forest was still, and that in itself was horrifying. No birds were swooping low, Hazel couldn’t remember the last time he had seen or heard a deer… Off in the distance he saw something amongst the natural green. He stopped, staring at the object. It wavered, glistened like it was a mirage. Chris was talking to himself - short sentences broken off by patches of laughter. Hazel looked at him, then back to the fluorescent green surrounded by a patch of white flowers. What the hell was it?

 

“Hey, Chris. Wait here for me.” There was a hum of response as he stepped into the brush of tall grass and wildflowers. It took him only seconds to stop in front of the barrel; a large barrel, sweet smelling with flammable stickers sealing it shut. He touched the lid of the container, feeling the oily substance seep onto his fingers.

 

When he smelled it directly off his hand, it was overwhelming, making his eyes water immediately. It was still sweet, overpoweringly sweet, with an underlying tone of rotting flowers, not a fresh bunch of store bought roses, but flowers that had been left to fester in the sun. He coughed, wiping the smell off his fingers and onto the grass. There was a moment he thought he was going to pass out, the smell still in his system, making him lightheaded, making his whole body tingly.

 

A gunshot rang off in the distance, dragging him back to reality. He was back on the trail, looking over at the barrel, Chris still patiently waiting for him, with a small smile on his face… What had he just been doing? He smelled his hand - no dead flower smell, nothing sweet, it smelled like the old paper he had been holding. The map was easy to read again, he looked back to the green, shrugged and started back down the path. His head was throbbing dully but not enough to bother him.

 

***

 

There was a moment that Hazel looked around him and all he saw was flames. Blinking hard, the lush forest was back. Another second it was the warm summer heat and tall green trees, the next, walls of smoke caged him in, tall, enveloping everything. It swirled around him, suffocating him - he couldn’t see anything else, not even his hands in front of his face, it was so thick and black. He tried to speak, inhaling enough smoke to knock him down.

 

Not real

 

The floor was cool; an offset to the dry gravel that had crunched beneath his boots - smooth wood instead of forest floor. He coughed, lying on his stomach to avoid more of the smoke, plumes billowing from an unseen fire. He couldn’t breathe, fingers wrapping around his throat, gasping on nothing -  if he didn’t get out he would die.

 

A soft click, resounded through the woods, drowning out everything.

 

And like a snap of someone’s fingers, he was back. Standing stock still in front of a rock. When he whirled around, looking for any remnants, a sign that he wasn’t losing his mind, he found only greenery. The ground was unmarked, clearly unused by people. Trees were crowded together; Confusion blossomed.  When had he gotten this far into the woods? No landmarks popped out, giving him direction. He was alone, listening to his own panicked gasps, each inhale sounding less garbled from the last. When had he left Chris? Why hadn’t Chris stopped him?

 

Oh, shit. Chris.

 

“Chris?” He stumbled, knees knocking together with each step he took back towards the path.

 

(Chris isn’t here.)

Fuck you

A voice like thunder crashed through his head. Then where? Where was Chris? Each step felt heavy, stiff- (That doesn’t matter, pup. Find it.) Hazel came to a complete stop, eyes stuck to the path; he had found it… he could remember it, but this wasn’t it. The ground was cracked, blistering, smoke bubbling up and onto the dirt. Small whiffs dug into his ankles as soon as he was within reach. Their touch was warm, dragging him forward, backwards, towards something he couldn’t make out.

 

He was half awake, the trees around him covered in fire, the smell of burning pine and flowers overwhelming.

 

(Where.)

 

Where what? His head tilted back, eyes lost in the black expanse of the sky. So dark. There weren’t any stars - maybe because the flames were so bright. Too bright.

 

(Focus.)

 

A loud snap. Once, twice -

This isn't real. You know this isn't real!

 

he was back in the forest… no smoke, no flames, it was morning again, Chris at Hazel’s elbow talking about something he could barely hear. What had just happened? The forest was bright, smelled like the earth - nothing was burning. Off in the distance, was that same green barrel.

 

(Find it.)

It's not real.


	9. Heavy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me forever and a half to write. Confused about the end? I left a little tid-bit at the bottom in the end notes. Again, thanks for reading, and have a good one!

**** ** Chris**

_Cull the Herd._

 

A blink and the world shuddered in the blackness into a still image of a forest; the ache of a steady guitar and screams rang through his skull.. Second blink, wind whipped through his hair, trees dipping from the force, the mountains in the distance bending and swaying. Unnatural. He tilted his head watching in a drunk filled haze.

 

Chris wasn’t sure he had heard the words correctly - misheard; too far away from the voice, distorted by the rumble of thunder and the bluster of winds. Wasn’t sure where he stood was right, an overwhelming sense of displacement - his body light, vision a dizzying red, an unfocused mirage. He swayed on his feet, body reacting on autopilot, mind still stuck to a chair. Every muscle locked up, arms extended out - the expectation of resistance on his wrists and ankles never came. Nothing holding him down… 

 

He glanced around, eyes flicking between trees. A forest? Nothing looked familiar, but a memory he couldn’t quite unfold pestered him. He had been here, but when? Something familiar, and nothing new. A buzz like electricity singing through the air, striking the ground, made his head crackle, like goosebumps on the brain. Focusing on it too hard made the pain more prevalent - a headache, one that split his skull open. Painful. Not painful enough. 

 

An echo of  memories flooded his senses -- someone unrecognizable fading in and out of his vision. The hue of red deepened, darkened, the longer he stared out at the trees looking for something, anyone. The music swelled, an orchestra of voices filling the room -- the forest… too open of a space for the amount of bouncing the audio did. It was distorted, dragging syllables, forcing sharp consonant, drifting off into the wind slowly, only to come back screaming. 

 

Then silence. Not a sound aside from Chris’ own ragged breaths. 

 

 _Cull the Herd._  

 

He had heard correctly… A deep rumble of a voice; years of abuse marking the voice. Authoritative. But cull the herd? What the hell? He shifted carefully, watching the ground to gauge the fishbowl perspective. If he couldn’t keep the world still, he was almost certain he would pass out. What did that even mean? Why was this happening? Everything around him felt fake, unreal, like someone else was trying to remember the things he had seen, because he had seen… Seen the trees, the mountains… in bits and pieces, he was beginning to fully recognize the area. 

 

He moved forward. Small tendrils of air, like strings, attached to his fingers, his elbows, his shoulders, knees, a soft tug of discomfort with each tug backwards. Don’t fight it, he could hear himself say, not himself, someone else, but recognizable… who? He moved forward faster, gliding over the dipping and uneven ground.

 

Dirt trails dug out alongside the river, the water blood red as it crashed over rocks… he stepped down the path, foot sinking into mud... their campsite… just the top of the generic tent, smoke from the to fire he had built billowing out between branches… his military duffel, thrown into the bushes. A muted gray instead of the camo green. The contents were spilling out; deliberate. Someone was looking for something. 

 

An instinct he hadn’t used in some time came spiraling forward; left hand flying down his jeans to grab at a gun, fingers grasping on cool air. He hadn’t brought it. Fuck, why had he listened to… listened to? Who had he been listening to? He shook his head, the confusion blooming into concern. He hadn’t used a gun, or been around guns for quite some time. Didn’t need it, wouldn’t need it, prioritized not ever needing it. Lonely nights of depressing thoughts had all but shut the idea of owning one absolutely impossible -- the clatter of rocks scrambling across the ground startled the thoughts out. 

 

Fuck he should have brought a gun. 

 

A man, not much bigger than Chris stumbled from in between the bushes and the torn apart tent, head hunkered low between his shoulders; not enough space was between them. Chris took a step back, eyes flicking between the top of the man’s head, scraggly brown hair draped over features, to the man’s balled up hands -- even with the distance separating them, Chris could still hear the man’s harsh breathing.

 

Loud, almost panting, like a dog. No weapon was visible but something seemed… off. 

He sucked in a breath, watching the other man slowly raise his head, tipping it back enough to let Chris see his face. 

 

Every muscle in the man’s face jumped of its own will, spasms that he couldn’t control. Twitches overtaking his whole body, pained moans leaving his thin lips. He looked normal enough…unfamiliar. Safe. No indication he had noticed Chris. 

 

An almost wicked sigh of relief left him; that stressed moment of thought where he wondered if it was a monster, instead of a man made his skin prickle, blood run cold -- but the sinking realization and swell of fear in his gut made him realize all the more that it was just a man. A man that Chris was almost certain he could take in a fight. One who was slowly sniffing the air, a low hum of a growl rumbling his chest, loud enough to shake the nerve Chris had had, goosebumps breaking out over warm skin. Not normal. Not human. A sob, broken -- a growl.

 

_He is not human._

 

A flash of red, and scrawled across his vision, _not real_ , almost in his reach was **_MEAT._** Jagged lines that faded when he blinked. Another step back, quieter, more planned, Chris’ eyes never leaving the other man’s form. 

 

_Cull._

 

Another step. The world twisted, bending, the nausea rising, that song. Filling the empty space in his brain, pulsing behind his eyes -- he was angry, fingers lacing in his hair, tugging; _Why!?_ The red, red, RED, blinding him. Too bright, making it hard to breath, squeezed his eyes shut to diminish the pain, tugged harder. Another step back, the wind picking up, filling his ears, rushing past him, overpowering the music,

“Cull the herd!” not wind. He was falling, not falling, being rushed!

 

 His eyes snapped open, the man’s face enveloping his view. Too loud, too close. Way too fast for how big he was. When had he been seen? Where was he supposed to go? He didn’t want to fight, could feel the man’s hands wind into his shirt, tugging him closer -- HE DIDN’T WANT TO FIGHT! Chris threw his arms out, shoving into the man’s chest, watching it cave in on impact. Paper mâché instead of skin, dry and crisp. Not real, unreal, this couldn’t be happening! _What is happening?_ He stumbled back, trying to get away as the hands stuck fast in his own shirt, melting into the fabric, pulling him closer, closer, CLOSER. His own wound tightly around the man’s wrists, trying to tug himself away, get them off of him!

 

Everything was too hot, too close. He felt like he was drowning. Overwhelmed in watching the world around him burn. Trees, the blood water, the screams of animals trying to escape. The man seemed unaware even when his body caught the flames -- cold against Chris’s panicked skin.  

 

Chris tried to scream, opened his mouth, but snapped it shut when the man got too close; rotten skin oozing off the man’s skull, glops of him dripping onto Chris’s outstretched arms; warm, and wet, sticking and warping around his biceps. Vice grips, more hands. Get Away! He tugged back, stuck, unmoving, the man inching their faces closer together; the words he spoke weren’t coherent, too garbled -- his tongue was drooling from the corner of his mouth, blending in with his chin, melting, melting... 

 

Another jolt back, the wrists in his hands crumpling, falling apart just like his chest had; his foot caught on something, a rock, his weight shifted too far back, he was falling; was supposed to be. But _he_ wasn’t falling. He watched himself as he fell, his own body standing tall, shoulders drawn back, hands balled similarly to how the other man had been. Too wound, and angry, ready to strike. And like a snap, the red of the world was gone, greens, blues, and browns of nature flooding back in, the soft lilt of the song starting back up -- clear enough to hear the tune, not loud enough to hear the words. 

 

Chris watched himself, watched the man made of paper mâché, appear back by the tent, ignoring him, ignoring not Chris, now standing tall; watched himself in slow motion, lunge forward and hit the man, straight to the chest. An inhuman growl filling the air around them. Smoke billowed from between their bodies, igniting both.  

The ground swallowed him whole. Drowning him in darkness -- deep, dark, warm, like he was falling asleep. With each shallow breath he managed to inhale, soft spoken words filtered in through the black. The song, so soft, rolling through each syllable, each note with ease. The voices carrying over top weren’t as sweet; rough, used, tired. Someone who’s years were beyond them; the only time he could remember hearing that sort of voice was when he had been deployed… After two years, his mission statement: Retrieve missing operative. Point blank. 

 

As the room came into view, the same one where he had fallen asleep, Chris could feel the bindings again, strapping him to his seat. The shutter, click, of a projector playing on in the background, almost completely drowned out by a song. Still too watery, diluted -- he couldn’t pinpoint lyrics, rather just the tune. Voices were louder, “He did pretty well.” Softly, close to his head. Exhaustion made the loll of his head feel heavier as he tried to locate the voices more specifically.

 

“He’s young. Of course he took to them well. Relay these to Jacob-.” Rustles of paper were the last thing he heard, the exhaustion from his nightmares dragging him back down. He took a deep breath in, chest filling too much; panic swelled. Lungs collapsing, too much air, his heart thrummed; it was too loud. Too much background noise he couldn’t control. 

 

“Ok, kiddo.” A calloused hand caressed under his chin, tilting his head up, “let’s get you prepped,” the rumble of a voice sounding familiar; one he had heard earlier. His vision was blurry, too blurry to make out the face in front of him -- too tired to fight the tilt and pull of his head, ministrations to check something Chris couldn’t see. The man was gentle enough, maybe Chris was numb. He let himself be handled, closed his eyes and listened to the white noise, hoping it would end faster. 

 

He was back… back where he had run away from. Hoped he would never be back in, yet he had somehow stumbled in severely under prepared. He was back in war; a war he wasn’t briefed on. And this side, the side he was stuck in, had a weapon that wasn’t going to be easy to break. Another swell in his chest, panic and anger, a sob violently stifled sob that tore his throat. There was more to come, and with the way his mind was already falling apart meant Chris was going to break first.

 

***

 

** Jacob **

Three and a half hours… long hours to strap one man to a chair and knock him out thoroughly. This kid hadn’t been easy, even with a stomach wound. Difficult to calm down after he watched Chris, ( _family? Maybe close friend.)_ go under. Unnervingly strong for how slim he was, two guards were then signed into the infirmary; broken thumb, and dislocated nose. He scribbled something down on his paper, glancing up at the still body - latched to a chair in the far corner of his office. Blonde hair bleeding into dark roots, curly, and long... Might have been safer to put him in a room, but the usual conditioning (the one Jacob had thought he had perfected,) wasn’t sticking well with him. He flipped the page over, listing off stronger techniques… ( _Starvation, torture…)_ He crossed them out. They needed to figure it out.

 

He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. This morning, more specifically the whole week, had already been difficult enough; not enough shipping containers for the Henbane, John causing too much trouble with the locals of Fall’s End, Joseph… being Joseph… He sighed. Now these two wandering in. Not a single call had been made to anyone about a rogue car coming into Hope County; he needed to update his Chosen on relaying and positioning.

 

Outside the window of his office, he could hear the shouts of his Chosen, directing traffic of new items, and instructions for new trainees to follow. Never a quiet moment in the Center, but somewhat comforting. His eyes slipped closed, fingers digging into his temples, the dull throb of pain stabbing behind his eyes; the headaches were getting worse. Wasn’t getting enough sleep he supposed. Too much work needed to be done… he groaned, leaning deeper into his seat. Having two new recruits, if he could even call them recruits, would lead to training, which would have to lead them to be successfully transitioned into the family, which would take a lot of time, and he wasn’t sure if he had the time… ( _Kill them maybe? A waste, honestly… Keep Chris… military training, taking well to the training - could be an easy transition… only one problem._

 

Again he looked at the man in the chair, body still slumped forward in sleep; he picked up his paper, standing with a complaint of his back that he rubbed out with the heel of his hand, making his way towards the board of notes he had made for these two newcomers. 

 

The paper was pinned at the center, the board cut into two spaces. One side filled with a collection of items that Jacob knew belonged to Chris -- if he hadn’t pulled them out of the camo duffel, he would have been able to find out because of the sharpie written name etched onto the bottom. Papers, including a map, and the license he had pulled from an almost empty wallet. Chris was pretty young, 25, stated by the birthdate on his license, was an active military person, what he was known for, Jacob couldn’t find out. 

 

He huffed, turning his attention to the other side. Practically empty. The only item on the board was the license of a woman named Anabele Avila. No other clues to what his actual name was. He pulled it down, flipping it over inspect the back… He found himself just staring, twirling the card between his fingers, catching the smooth point on the edge of his thumb. It was a thin Washington license, vertical as opposed to horizontal like the Montana one he had in his old wallet. The picture grainy and dulled of a short haired girl stared back -- the man and the woman did have similarities, face shape, eyebrow shape and same nose. Siblings could share those traits just as easily. But he had even talked about being called Anabele… there was no way. He tapped his fingers on the plastic, folding his arms together in thought. 

 

She was so familiar. It was something he noticed when he first saw the boy sitting in the hospital bed with Wes and Ida. Just the way he held himself, and smiled, looked just like her. So familiar, like a word on the tip of Jacob’s tongue that he couldn’t remember. Her? No, he was fairly certain it was a boy, a boy that was pretty, too pretty to be a boy, that cried when Jacob got into fights, and promised to visit him after duty. The boy that disappeared one night from the juvenile center and was never found. He remembered his counselor, assigning him this small kid with curly hair and big mis-colored eyes, a snarky attitude. What was his name?

 _Jake, this is Ana… Theodore._  

 

Like a light going off in his head, Jacob remembered: Theodore, Theo, Peach -- the pointed stares, small shoulder nudges, the kid that tried to be someone else so badly… Jacob gaped down at the picture, then back to the man still strapped to a chair. Shell-shock would have been a good word for what Jacob felt; Someone missing suddenly came popping back up, right here, right now, and Jacob wasn’t sure he was happy about it. _Dammit._

 

He pressed the license back into the board, turning on his heels and walking back towards the man, Theo… He was still unconscious, his head leaning against the back of the chair, mouth slacked open. It felt so surreal, Jacob using the knuckle of his finger to close his mouth -- Theo didn’t look the same at all, maybe it was because he was older. Jacob sighed, following the calm rise and fall of Theo’s chest.

 

The medication would wear off soon, an hour maybe,  Jacob giving it a little more leeway than what Wes suggested, and Jacob… what was he going to do? Question Theo? About what? About why he was here? Why he left when they were younger? What would he get out of it? Would he let him go? Keep him here? His fingers pressed into Theo’s throat, feeling the soft jump of his pulse… jump. He was asleep, unless he was having a nightmare, there would be no reason for that -- 

 

crack! Jacob hit the ground face first, eyes immediately watering when his nose crashed into the concrete floor. He wasn’t sure if it was Theo’s fist or something else, but whatever hit him, hit him hard, and square in the jaw.

 

“You think you can keep me tied to a chair in fantasy land!?” Theo pressed both his knees into Jacob’s back, clawing up a fistful of hair to tug back his head. “Shit doesn’t work on me!” He was still loopy, the drugs still in his system; the way he slurred his words and tugged a little too hard on Jacob’s hair, as if he were falling backwards, gave him away. With little to no force, Jacob grabbed Theo’s ankle, enacting the smaller man to rip at his hair. With a twist, Jacob successfully caged Theo between his arms and legs, using his forearms as a brace on his wrists, and ankles pressed tightly to his knee caps. 

 

“Didn’t think it would work! Oh, no! I hoped it would.” Theo thrashed hard, trying to knock his head against Jacob’s, to tug his wrists free, but he was tired, slow.

With a slow whine, Theo let his head fall back, closing his eyes, letting Jacob’s breath fan over him.

 

“No, Peach…” He watched the panic blossom over Theo’s features, grinned when his eyes snapped open, “but we are gonna see if we can find a way to keep you in there.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is confused about what is going on between Hazel and Jacob: Hazel's full name is Theodore Hazel Avila (a trans boy) and he was in the same juvenile correction center as Jacob when they were younger. Another thing I should mention is all the Seed boys are a little younger... well Jacob and Joseph...

**Author's Note:**

> Well ok, for anyone who reads this aside from my lovable Wook, this is kind of just me writing for the hell of it. It goes a little fast and one point and I have no clue when I will update. If you read it, thanks. Find any mistakes, let me know.


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